


The Long Fall

by Winnywriter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bullying, Dubious Consent, F/M, Homophobia, M/M, Mentions of alcoholism, Suicide Attempt, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 10:41:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 65,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winnywriter/pseuds/Winnywriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To say that Edlund High is different from St. Zachariah's would be the understatement of the century, but Castiel is willing to do whatever he has to in order to put his past behind him. It's not as easy as he would have hoped; known bully, Christopher Alastair has a thing or two to say about Castiel's lifestyle, an estranged father who he'd given up on ever finding has decided to come to him instead, and somehow, his English teacher has started dating his mother. </p>
<p>And on top of all of that, there's Dean Winchester, who Castiel thinks might be the most complicated aspect of his new life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is: my very first official Dean/Cas Big Bang, and also my first attempt at a full-fledged high school AU. Thank you so much to my alpha-reader Violetcarson, and my beta, [Queen Charlie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_charlie). Art by the lovely kamicom can be found [here](http://kamicom.livejournal.com/5623.html).

"So anyway, that's the story of how I got suspended back in primary school. I never thought it was fair, but it's hard to argue a case like that when you're seven. My mother wouldn't hear it, anyway." Balthazar shoved his hands into his pockets and chewed the last bit of toaster pastry he'd popped into his mouth as he walked. "Here's hoping I manage to keep my nose clean enough in this one. I can only imagine the heart attack she'd suffer if I were to get expelled on the other side of the Atlantic."

Castiel replied only with a roll of his eyes and a fond smile, and Balthazar nudged him amicably as they strode down the sidewalk, a warm September breeze keeping off the worst of the humidity. "What about you then?" the blond asked.

Castiel arched an eyebrow at him. "What _about_  me?"

"How does it feel to be going back into the public schooling system? Probably different from what you'd gotten used to, hm?"

"I guess," Castiel relented, and he looked away, tucking his thumbs under the straps of his backpack. "I don't really know."

"Worried they'll give you trouble?"

"I can handle it."

Balthazar frowned a bit, staring down at his shoes as he stepped over a shallow puddle. "You don't have to tell anybody, you know," he said as he glanced back up at Castiel.

"I'm not going to lie," Castiel huffed.

"It's not lying! It's just...omitting certain truths."

Castiel stopped, navy Converses scraping against the concrete. "Balthazar," he sighed, hands swinging loose by his sides. "You're the last person I ever expected would tell me to hide-"

Balthazar rushed to his side, clapping a friendly hand on Castiel's slumped shoulder. "I'm not, Cassie! Believe me, I'm not. You know I've never cared." He scratched the back of his neck and allowed a small, almost sheepish smile to tug at the corner of his mouth. "Suppose I've just heard one too many horror stories about the American education system."

Castiel pushed past him, taking a breath to ease the pounding of his own heart before Balthazar could notice it was racing. "They're not all horror stories," he said. "But really, I'll be fine. I'm not going to lie about it, but I'm not going to broadcast it to the school either." He turned and smiled at Balthazar, just to reassure him that what he was saying was true. And it didn't hurt to remind himself either.

"Yes, well..." Balthazar walked quickly to keep pace, and soon they were walking side by side again. "If anyone gives you any trouble, you just call old Balthy, hm?"

"Thanks, Balthazar," Castiel chuckled. "But I don't want you spending all your time looking after me, you know."

"I know, I know, Cas. You can take care of yourself. Believe me, I know."

Castiel sent a sly smile his way. "You'll probably be too busy to spend much time with me anyway."

"Now whatever makes you say that?" Balthazar asked with a smirk.

"American girls love foreign guys. With that accent of yours you could probably wind up having a _ménage à_...what's French for twelve?"

Balthazar laughed openly and wrapped an arm around Castiel's shoulders. " _Douze_ , Cassie," he said.

Castiel stared down at his schedule as he stood by his locker. He'd found it without much trouble, and a free first period had given him plenty of time to organize his things and get situated without being bothered. But it was nearly time for second period now, according to the folded piece of paper in his hands: biology with Mr. Gabriel Milton in room 218.

He shut his locker and grabbed his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder as he wandered down the hall, singing along under his breath to the tune of the latest song that had lodged itself between his ears: "I want to break free-ee...I want to break free…"

The end-of-period bell rang when he was halfway up the stairs, and he quickened his pace, making it to the second floor just as students had started filing out of the classrooms. Nobody looked up at him or thought him out of place; it didn't surprise him that, in a school this big, it was relatively easy to disappear. Whether he was grateful for that fact or not, he couldn't say quite yet.

At the end of the hall, there was a large window looking out over the parking lot, and the hallway split in two directions. Not wanting to seem too lost, Castiel turned left, and immediately crashed into someone walking toward him..

He stumbled, rubbing his nose, and the person he'd run into toppled to the tile floor, legs splayed out in front of him. "Son of a bitch!" he grumbled, and he glared up at Castiel. "Watch where you're going, huh?"

Castiel muttered an apology and reached down, taking the guy's hand and helping him stand up again. He was taller than Castiel was, with short light brown hair and a face liberally splotched with freckles, and his eyes were a startling jade green. Castiel barely noticed the words tripping from between his lips when he asked, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," the guy said, his voice deep and gruff, like he was forcing it to settle an octave lower than its natural pitch. "Look, I didn't mean to snap or anything. Just didn't expect to get knocked on my ass, you know?"

"I'm sorry. I was in a hurry and I'm a little lost, to be honest..."

"What, you new or something?" Castiel nodded. "One hell of a first impression." He frowned, and the guy bent down to pick up his backpack: an old, ratty thing that had slipped off his shoulder when he'd fallen. When Castiel tried to help, the guy waved him away. "I got it," he insisted.

Castiel watched as he gathered his things, and the guy sighed stiffly when he noticed Castiel's gaze on him. "You're still here?"

"I don't exactly know where I'm going," Castiel admitted, and before he could say another word, his schedule was plucked from his hands, green eyes scanning over it intently.

"Biology with Gabriel, huh? You're heading the wrong direction." He pointed over Castiel's shoulder, down the hall. "It's that way."

"Oh."

"Can't miss it." He shoved the paper back into Castiel's hands and settled his backpack on his shoulders again, pushing past him. Castiel was just able to make out the initials _DW_  stitched haphazardly into the fraying pocket before the other student turned to face him again.

"You coming?" he barked, seemingly running out of what little patience he'd had to begin with.

Castiel blinked at him. "What?"

The guy rolled his eyes and gestured for him to follow as he turned to head down the hall again, and Castiel fumbled with his backpack for a moment before going after him. He didn't slow his pace, didn't even seem to notice that Castiel was following, and Castiel almost had to jog to keep up with him.

Room 218 was just a few doors down in the opposite direction. The classroom was bright, with windows lining the far wall and colorful posters covering the other three. The dry erase board in the front of the room was wiped clean, save for a few scribbles leftover around the edges that had escaped the eraser, and it seemed someone had scrawled a poorly-drawn penis in one corner.

"DW" didn't look at him as he went inside and sat at the wide lab bench near the back of the classroom, shoulders hunched. Castiel lingered for a moment, unsure whether common courtesy demanded he sit with this surly, antagonizing classmate of his, but his feet seemed to think better of the idea as they led him to another seat.

Castiel seated himself at the bench nearest the desk in front of the board, claiming the stool by the window. He dropped his backpack beside the sink next to him and pulled out a fresh notebook and a few pens, setting them down in front of him and folding his arms over them as he looked back to survey the rest of the class.

Many seats were still empty, but more people were coming in now. Two girls sat in the empty seats beside him at the bench, not paying him a second glance as they talked about their summer trips and class schedules; Castiel ignored them in turn, looking toward the back of the classroom, gaze locking with that of the guy from before. He was leaning his cheek against the palm of his hand, looking caught up in his thoughts, and when he met Castiel's eye, he sent him a stiff, two-fingered salute.

Castiel's hand barely twitched, but didn't even lift off of his notebook as he turned back around. Regret tugged at his ribs the moment he faced the white board again, but he didn't dare to look back over his shoulder.

Castiel nearly mistook the man who stumbled in a minute later for a student. He was somewhat short, with sandy blond hair that he had to push out of his face as he put his things on the desk. He leaned back against the metal lip beneath the dry erase board and surveyed the classroom before grabbing a stack of papers and thumbing through them.

"Alright," he said, licking the pad of his thumb and grabbing a sheet. "How about I make some enemies and start off with a pop quiz, huh?"

The class collectively groaned, but Castiel merely arched one eyebrow as the teacher smirked. "Nah, I'm just kidding." He lifted one of the sheets for the class to see. "It's just the syllabus." He grinned as he plopped the stack in front of Castiel and wandered away, and Castiel blinked at the papers a moment before taking one and passing them along.

"For any of you who haven't heard his spiel before, my name is Gabriel Milton. Call me Gabriel, Mr. Gabriel, Gabe, G...I don't really care. Just as long as you don't call me Mr. Milton." He cringed, and Castiel held up his hand.

"What happens if we do call you Mr. Milton?" he challenged, and Gabriel arched an eyebrow at him.

"If you're lucky, I'll get you suspended."

The fifty minute class period went by rather quickly; they went over the syllabus and started with some basic material like hydrogen bonds and phylogeny, and Castiel scribbled a few notes before taking to staring out the window instead. It had begun to rain halfway through the period, and he watched as the droplets raced each other down the smooth surface.

"Remember, closed-toed shoes for lab on Wednesday," Gabriel called at the lecture's end. "I don't care if it's hotter than the pits of Hell out there, if you come in wearing flip-flops, you won't be handling so much as a test tube brush."

Castiel noticed the guy he'd bumped into earlier leaving ahead of him, and he grabbed his backpack to go; he at least wanted to learn his name if they were going to be in the same class. He was halfway out the door when a hand pressed down on his shoulder, and he turned, angling his gaze down to meet Gabriel's amber gaze.

"What's your name?" he asked.

Castiel blinked at him and said, "Castiel Novak."

"Well, Castiel Novak, word of advice. If you're going to stare out the window, I'd recommend you sit in the back."

"Oh...I wasn't-"

"Oh relax. I'm kidding, Castiel. It's fine." Castiel let his grip on his backpack strap loosen. "You're the new transfer student, right? From Saint Zachariah's? You're a sophomore, right?"

"Junior. And how did you..."

"Don't worry, nobody's gossiping about you. Mike mentioned you a while ago."

"Mike?"

"Our dear principal. Don't ever tell him I call him Mike, or he'll string me up from the rafters."

Castiel felt a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I won't say anything."

"Appreciate it. First day going alright?"

"It's fine. There are...more people here than I'm used to."

"Yeah, you'll adjust. Just make a friend. Most of the kids here don't bite." Castiel nodded, and turned toward the door. Gabriel waved him on, and he slipped into the hallway, wondering just how much Gabriel knew about his new transfer student.

By the time he went to lunch after fourth period, the knot of anxiety had come unclenched in his gut a bit, and his stomach was growling. As he came out of the line holding his tray, he looked back just in time to catch Balthazar waving at him from the back.. No sense in standing around awkwardly while he waited, he figured, and he went and sat down at an empty table by the window.

Someone stepped up to the table, and Castiel glanced up, but instead of seeing Balthazar staring back at him, his gaze met a pair of familiar forest green eyes nestled in a sea of freckles. "Hey," their owner said, and Castiel furrowed his brow. "Look, I'm sorry for snapping and stuff earlier."

"It's fine," Castiel assured him.

"No, I mean...really. You were just trying to find your damn classroom, and...I just had kind of a shitty morning and..." He grunted in frustration, seeming annoyed, but not with Castiel. Rather, he seemed mad at himself, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck. He thrust out a hand, saying, "I'm Dean."

Castiel hesitated a moment before taking it. "Castiel."

"Castiel, huh? That's an...interesting name."

"Weird, you mean."

"I never said that."

"It's okay. At least people don't usually have trouble remembering it." He tapped his hands against the table, and he was just about to ask if Dean wanted to sit with him when Dean did just that, settling across the table from him.

"You waiting on anybody? Please tell me you're not gonna fall into the new-guy cliché of eating by yourself in a closet or something."

"Do I look like I'm in a closet?" Castiel asked with a tentative smile. "I'm actually waiting on Balthazar. He's-" He looked over at the lunch line, and Dean followed his gaze: Balthazar was leaning on the lunch counter, smirking at the black-haired woman who was serving the string beans. "Well...he'll be here in a bit. I hope."

"Wait...is he the skinny blond guy flirting with the lunch lady?"

"He flirts with everybody," Castiel told him. "He's harmless enough, though. Even lovable when you get to know him."

"Isn't he that foreign exchange student all the girls are fawning over?"

"They're fawning already?"

"Hell yeah, they are. He was in my stats class first period. Said he was from Paris or something."

Castiel nodded. "He is. He's been living with us for the past few months."

"And you guys are friends?"

"I like to think so."

"Dude...how does that damn accent not drive you insane?" Castiel found himself chuckling, and he could have sworn that Dean looked proud of himself. "So...where are you from, anyway? You just move here?"

"No," Castiel said with a shake of his head. "I transferred."

"From where?"

He hesitated a moment before saying, "Saint Zachariah's." Dean wrinkled his nose.

"That stuffy place? I don't blame you for leaving, even if you did get dumped here."

Castiel picked at his burger bun, chewing on his lip. "It wasn't really too bad."

"What made you leave then?"

"Just...reasons." His heart leaped in his chest, and he didn't meet Dean's eye.

"Reasons?" Dean parroted, arching one eyebrow. "That's all?"

" _Yes_ , that's all," Castiel snapped, and Dean leaned back in surprise. Castiel sighed, digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands as he tried to get ahold of his breathing. "I'm sorry...I'm-"

"Forget it." When Castiel looked up again, Dean's expression had changed; he was dead serious. Not angry, but...solemn, like a shadow had passed over his face. "You don't wanna say." It was a statement, not a question. "Trust me, I get it. Forget I asked."

A million excuses fought in Castiel's throat, but in the end, what won out was a simple, "Thank you."

Dean leaned forward, the shadow dissipating, leaving his eyes shining again. "So Cas...Can I call you Cas?" Castiel nodded without realizing he was doing it. Nobody called him that except Balthazar and Anna, and it never seemed quite as warm coming from them as it had coming from Dean just now. Castiel found it odd, and even more strange was how much he realized he liked it. "What do you have after this? I want to make up for being a jerk earlier, help you out."

Castiel fished his schedule out of his pocket and unfolded it on the table. A smudge of mustard brushed off his finger onto the corner as he did, and he frowned. "English literature," he said. "Room 132."

"Crowley?" Dean asked.

"Yes."

Dean grinned. "No shit? Me too."

"Really?" Dean nodded.

"It's right down the hall, actually. I have to meet up with some people now, but I'll meet you by the doors when lunch is over." He stood as he talked, and Castiel smiled at him.

"Alright."

"Awesome. See you then. Actually, I wouldn't mind having some company in Crowley's class. Dude's a handful."

He left Castiel to mull over what that meant, and whether or not it was something worth worrying about, and Castiel took a large bite of his hamburger just as Balthazar slid into the seat next to him and plopped his tray beside his.

"Have some company why you were waiting?" he chirped, smirking. Castiel chewed thoughtfully.

"His name is Dean, apparently," he said. "I...bumped into him this morning. We're in the same biology class, and English too, right after this."

"Oooh!" Balthazar crooned. "I thought I recognized him. He fell asleep in my first-period statistics class. I don't blame him. I can already tell that class is going to be painful. So..." He leaned in close, batting his eyelashes. "You two seemed to get along rather well, didn't you?"

"Stop that," Castiel commanded. "I don't need you messing with me."

"I live to mess with you, Cassie."

"So I've learned." He watched as Dean sat down at a far table with a group of people he didn't recognize. "Do you know them?"

Balthazar nudged him with one elbow. "Jealous?"

"Curious."

"Well...no, I don't. Only been here one day, remember?"

"But you're a gossip."

"You wound me, Cassie," Balthazar said, looking offended. Castiel stared at him, unimpressed, until he finally shrugged. "But you're right...still, I don't know who they are." Castiel looked them over; the one that caught Castiel's eye first was a thin, scraggly-looking guy with crooked teeth that he could see even from this far across the room. The beginnings of a beard were cropping up on his chin, but it only made him look more ragged. He was smiling at Dean in a way that made Castiel's lunch curdle in his stomach.

On Dean's other side was a girl, blonde and cute with a smile that was much more appealing. She was leaning close to Dean, touching his arm, and from the way he was looking at her, Castiel figured at least one of his questions about Dean was answered for the time being.

There was another, his skin a dark mahogany color; he sat across from Dean, frowning so adamantly that it seemed the expression was permanently etched into his face. He looked anything but happy to be there, and Dean, from the looks of it, barely acknowledged him.

"You should hurry up," Balthazar said a few minutes later, propping his feet up on the table and earning himself a tight-lipped look of disapproval from Castiel. "Lunch is almost over." Castiel glanced up at the clock, then down at his burger, and immediately wolfed it down. "Easy, Cassie, easy! You're going to choke and I don't know CPR."

"That's the Heimlich," Castiel corrected, mouth full, and Balthazar rolled his eyes and muttered, "Whatever..." He finished, grabbed his things, and only paused when Balthazar grabbed his arm and held him back.

"Got a little something, there," he said, licking the pad of his thumb and rubbing it across the corner of Castiel's mouth. Castiel batted his hand away, and Balthazar cackled at him. "Alright, alright, go off and meet up with your new best friend."

"Don't you have class?"

"Fifth period free, _heureusement_." He made no move to take his feet off the table, and Castiel sighed in resignation.

"I'll meet you after school."

" _Au revoir,_  Cas."

When Castiel met Dean by the doors to the cafeteria, he was alone, and Castiel was thankful for it. The girl had seemed nice enough, but the two other guys who had been sitting with him didn't seem like the type that Castiel wanted to make small talk with. Maybe that was hasty of him. Still, Dean smiled when he saw him, and nodded down the hall.

"Classroom's right down this way," he said as he began to walk. Castiel followed. "You got your books and everything? Crowley's a hard-ass when it comes to having all your stuff. Forgetting your copy of _Slaughterhouse Five_  is enough to land you in detention."

"We're reading _Slaughterhouse Five?_ " Castiel asked, one eyebrow quirked. "I thought it was an English literature class."

"I had him for American lit last year. The class isn't bad, but ole Fergus gets on my nerves."

"He's really that bad?"

"A mountain of dicks. But hey, you'll be okay. Here it is." They stopped in front of the classroom; the door was shut, but when Castiel peeked through the frosted glass window, he didn't see anyone but a few students inside. "Don't worry, we got time. He'll lock you out if you're late, though. Happened to me once or twice. God, I can't wait to see the look on his face when he finds out he has me again. He might just have an aneurysm."

Dean cackled as he opened the door and went inside, and to Castiel's surprise, he sat in the front row, patting the desk beside him. "C'mon. You strike me as a front-row kind of guy."

Castiel sat down next to him and put down his backpack. "I take it Mr. Crowley doesn't like you much."

"Nah, he hates me."

"Why's that?"

Dean shrugged. "He spent a whole semester trying to prove I was stupid, but I aced every test he gave, wrote model essays. I can't imagine how much time he put into trying to catch me cheating, but the thing is I never did." He laughed, looking supremely satisfied with himself. "Drove him nuts."

"Wow..." Castiel breathed, staring at him, and when Dean looked up, his smile faltered.

"Why do you look so surprised?"

"I'm not! I just-"

"Look, just because I'm not a science and math kind of guy doesn't mean I'm flunking out of school, okay? I might have failed statistics last year, but it doesn't make me stupid." He glared at his desk, and Castiel couldn't help the sinking ache in his chest that kept telling him he'd said something wrong.

"I don't think you're stupid at all, Dean," he said, trying to sound as sincere as he could, and Dean tapped his fingernails against the edge of his desk for a moment before nodding.

"S'okay. I'm kinda used to it."

"But you shouldn't-"

"So what do you think of Gabriel?" Dean asked, and Castiel deflated at the change in subject. He couldn't help but feel he'd left a wound open.

He shrugged. "He's nice."

"He totally called you out for going spacey during the lecture, didn't he?" Dean asked with a grin. "You know, when he held you back? That's the thing, man. If you're gonna day-dream you have to sit back a few rows."

"That wasn't what he said, actually. Well, he mentioned it, but he was kidding...I think." Castiel paused, thinking back on the conversation. Something about Gabriel made him feel safe somehow, but he couldn't quite wrap his mind around what it was. He had an almost big-brother-like presence about him, teasing, but protective. "He asked me how my first day was going. Said the principal had mentioned me or something."

Dean chuckled. "No shit?"

"Is that strange?"

"Just weird that be would have talked to Gabriel about it."

"Why's that?" Dean gave him a look that he couldn't read.

"Dude, don't you know why Gabriel hates being called Mr. Milton? Guess if you're new, you wouldn't..." Castiel huffed, unable to shake the feeling that he was missing out on something that, as far as Dean was concerned anyway, was blatantly obvious.

"Why?" he pressed.

"Michael Milton? As in _Principal_  Milton? He's Gabriel's older brother."

Castiel gaped at him. "Really?"

"Yep," Dean said with a nod. "And they've never gotten along. Ever. They butt heads all the time. My freshman year, a few parents complained about Gabriel teaching evolution, and Principal Milton tried to get him to go the whole 'intelligent design' route." He rolled his eyes. "Course, Gabriel said no way, and almost got fired for it, but apparently he's got _another_  brother on the Board or something, so he kept his job and the curriculum didn't change."

Castiel stared ahead at the meticulously cleaned dry erase board as he pondered that. It was only his first day, and he was already delving into the family drama that went on behind the scenes at the school. Balthazar would have been proud of him. "All of them in the same career...looking after the same school, no less," he mused. "Talk about your family business."

A hand slammed down on Castiel's desk, nearly making him jump right out of his seat before he dared to look up at its owner. He looked to be somewhere in his forties, his face covered in hard lines that seemed to be hewn into his flesh like marks in stone from decades of scowling. His dark hair was thinning, receded from the front, but a rough beard covered his square jaw.

He glowered down at Castiel and tapped his fingernails against the desk as he snarled in a thick English accent, "I'm sure this conversation is positively gripping, but I do have a class to teach. As much as I'm certain you'd like to pretend I don't."

"Class doesn't even start for another three minutes," Dean said, and the man who Castiel could only assume was Mr. Crowley glared at him. Dean waved cutely.

"Terribly sorry. Didn't realize you'd been promoted to the position of faculty member, Winchester." He walked over to the door and slammed it shut before sauntering over to the desk and taking a stack of papers out of a black folder. "Aldous Huxley's _Brave New World,_ " he announced, waving the papers lazily in one hand. "I'm sure at least half of you have heard of it. Maybe some of you even read a chapter or two. Either way, let's just see how far you got before you got distracted by a new Facebook notification, hm?"

He slapped the papers down on Castiel's desk and said, "Pass those out." Castiel stared down at them, brow furrowed, an empty feeling opening up the pit of his stomach. Crowley cocked an eyebrow down at him and gestured for him to stand. "Forget your summer reading, much?"

"I didn't know we had any," Castiel mumbled. Regardless, he took the papers and stood, moving to pass them down the row, but Crowley stopped him.

"Well, you know now, don't you, mister..."

"Novak."

"Novak..." Crowley smiled around his name, and the sound of him saying it made Castiel shiver. "Why does that sound familiar?"

Yet another teacher that was supposedly warned about him, Castiel wondered? His lunch soured in his stomach as he counted out enough quizzes for each row and passed them out. By the time he got back to his own desk, Crowley's grin had widened. "New, aren't you?" he asked, and Castiel just nodded as he sat down to his own blank quiz.

Crowley looked immensely pleased with himself as he said, "Well, welcome to Edlund High. You have fifteen minutes."

Castiel was just collecting his books out of his locker when somebody shoved a copy of _Brave New World_  in his face, and he looked up to find Dean grinning at him sympathetically. "One bad quiz isn't going to do you in," he said. "I should know. I've flunked plenty, and I'm still here."

Castiel blinked at the book, which Dean was still holding out to him. Dean shook it. "Take it," he said. Castiel did.

"Don't you need it?"

"I finished it back in July. Besides, you look like the type of guy who's a quick reader, right? Just read it and get it back to me when you're done. Crowley'll probably single you out for class discussion questions and junk since he knows you didn't read it over the summer. This way at least you can show him that you won't let him get to you."

"Thank you," Castiel said, smiling a bit and tucking the book into his backpack.

"Don't worry about it. You taking the bus home?"

"God, no. I don't live far from here. I'm walking with Balthazar."

"Beats the bus anyway. I started driving to school the day I got my license. Fuck that metal box. If I'm gonna be here, I'd much rather get here my way, thank you very much." A voice called Dean's name from down the hall, and both of them looked up and craned their necks to see the guy from the cafeteria waving impatiently. Dean patted Castiel on the shoulder and turned to go. "Take care of yourself, Cas. I'll see you in bio."

Tentatively, Castiel waved. "See you."

"So," Balthazar crooned, nudging Castiel in the ribs with the point of his elbow as they walked down the block. "Winchester."

Castiel massaged his side and grimaced. "What about him?"

"He seems nice."

"Enough, Bal," Castiel said with a fond roll of his eyes. "What are you insinuating?"

Balthazar stared at him and blinked innocently. " _Je ne comprends pas._ "

This time, it was Castiel's turn to shove him, and Balthazar stumbled off the curb. "Stop, will you? I know what you're getting at, and just for clarity's sake, the answer is no." He walked a few more steps as Balthazar hopped back up onto the sidewalk. "You know, it's not like I find _everybody_  attractive, just because I happen to be-"

"Bisexual?"

"Pansexual," Castiel corrected.

Balthazar furrowed his brow. "There's a difference?"

" _Yes._ "

"Alright, alright! I'm sorry, Cassie. You know all those damn labels confuse me."

"If you want, I can print you out a pamphlet."

Balthazar chuckled. "Just link me to the Wikipedia article or something. You can even quiz me on it later if you want." He nudged Castiel affectionately, this time in a way that didn't threaten to leave a bruise. "You know I don't mean to be difficult."

"I'd be worried if you weren't." He smiled despite trying with every ounce of willpower he had not to.

"For what it's worth," Balthazar added after a minute or two of walking in silence, "You're probably too good for half the people in that school, male, female, or any variation thereof." Castiel's small smile bloomed into a full grin, which Balthazar quickly mirrored.

"Well, _for what it's worth_ , it's not exactly a pressing issue. It's only been one day."

"Yes, but given that he was the first person you had any real, positive interaction with on that first day, it's not entirely unreasonable to think you might imprint on him like a _caneton._ "

"Cane- what?"

Balthazar frowned, pressing his fingers to his temple. "You know, a _caneton._  Small, fluffy, yellow, follow their mother around all the time..."

"A duckling?" Castiel asked with a laugh.

"That's the one!"

"I'm nobody's... _caneton._ "

"Your accent is terrible," Balthazar said when they reached home, and he leaned on the wooden gate until it opened and he swung into the yard.

"Well pardon me. We can't all be bilingual."

"I think you mean _pan_ lingual," Balthazar said with a grin.

Castiel pushed him into a hydrangea bush and went inside.

It was nearly five-thirty by the time Castiel logged onto Skype, and he didn't expect Anna to be online so late. It was a pleasant surprise to see that she was, and typed a quick message, swiveling back and forth in his chair as he waited for a reply.

_**Castiel Novak:** _ _What are you doing up this late?_

_**Anna:** _ _What are YOU doing up this late?_

_**Castiel Novak:** _ _It's only five-thirty here, I'll have you know._

_**Anna:** _ _Lucky. Was your first day today?_

_**Castiel Novak:** _ _Yes._

_**Anna:** _ _And?_

_**Castiel Novak:** _ _And what?_

_**Anna:** _ _And how did it goooo?_

_**Castiel Novak:** _ _It went perfectly fine. Nothing to report._

_**Anna:** _ _Everyone play nice? I hope your teachers aren't too insane._

_**Castiel Novak:** _ _Only slightly. I can't tell if my English teacher hates me or just hates everyone. Honestly I'm not sure which I'd prefer. But my biology teacher seems nice._

_**Anna:** _ _Biology, huh? Bet you're gonna love that. :) Meet anyone cool on the first day?_

_**Castiel Novak:** _ _I did meet one guy named Dean. I think we could get to be friends._

_**Anna:** _ _You call that "nothing to report?"_

_**Castiel Novak:** _ _I didn't think it was really of import._

_**Anna:** _ _Of course it's important. You made a friend. I'm so proud! :D_

_**Castiel Novak:** _ _I'm not sure if I should be happy that you're proud of me or insulted that you really find it that surprising that I can communicate with other humans._

_**Anna:** _ _*ruffles your hair*_

_**Castiel Novak:** _ _Stop that._

_**Anna:** _ _Just let me big sister you a little bit. And give me some credit – it's not easy to do from across the Atlantic._

_**Castiel Novak:** _ _How is France, since we're on the subject?_

_**Anna:** _ _Magnifique! I think this exchange program might be the best thing to ever happen to me._

_**Castiel Novak:** _ _That's good. For what it's worth, the other exchangee is apparently wooing girls left and right with his exotic accent. The ladies of Edlund High didn't stand a chance._

_**Anna:** _ _Well good, because my American accent just makes people look like they want to throw up on me when I speak French. Here's hoping I can reach fluency before I get deported._

_**Anna:** _ _So you're really doing okay?_

_**Castiel Novak:** _ _I'm really doing okay._

_**Anna:** _ _I'll send a postcard home soon. And maybe a baguette or some cheese or something._

_**Castiel Novak:** _ _Please do not send cheese._

_**Anna:** _ _Cheese it is. ;)_

_**Castiel Novak:** _ _I pity the postman who has to handle it, in that case._

_**Anna:** _ _Message received. I need to sleep, Cas. Falling asleep on my keyboard here._

_**Castiel Novak:** _ _Goodnight then._

_**Anna:** _ _Night._

"Talking to the big sister again?" Balthazar asked from behind, and Castiel nearly tipped over in his chair from swiveling around so quickly. "Jumpy?"

"Don't sneak up on me like that. I swear, it's like you appear out of thin air sometimes." He got up and shut his laptop, hauling his backpack off of his bed and unzipping it as he sat down on the edge. He dropped Dean's copy of _Brave New World_  on his pillow as a reminder to start reading it before bed that night.

"Assigned reading already?" Balthazar said, one eyebrow cocked.

"Apparently I was supposed to do it over the summer," Castiel sighed, and he lay back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. "I flunked my first quiz of the year, and now my English teacher thinks I'm incompetent."

Balthazar sat beside him and crossed his legs. "Well, you'll just have to prove him wrong then, hm?" As Castiel huffed contemplatively, Balthazar furrowed his brow and ran his hand through his hair, pulling out a piece of green leaf and flicking it onto the floor with a grimace. "I'm going to be pulling bits of _hortensia_  out of my hair for days."

As much as he tried not to, Castiel did snort out a laugh at that, feeling strangely satisfied with himself. "That's what you get for joking about my sexuality."

"Well, I learned my lesson, alright?" Balthazar sobered as Castiel pushed himself up and plucked the leaf off the carpet, shuffling over to the trash can by the door and dropping it in. "Honestly, Cassie, I know I joke, but I never meant to-"

"Don't apologize, Balthazar," Castiel said with a fond smirk. "I don't want you getting indigestion."

" _Vous êtes un merveilleux ami, vous savez?_ " Balthazar replied, grinning.

"I think I got...maybe two words of that."

Balthazar's smile widened, and he stood up to pat Castiel on the shoulder. "You're getting better then."

Dean rolled up to the steps in front of Kripke Middle and parked by the curb behind a tan Volvo. The parking lot was by no means crowded, since most of the students had already gone home, so he turned up AC/DC's _Back in Black_  and ignored the disapproving glance the woman in the car in front of him sent his way.

He was just in the middle of an epic air-drum solo when Sam came around the corner from the athletic field, and Dean arched an eyebrow when he noticed his little brother wasn't alone. The girl who was with him wore a smile to match Sam's. Dean had never in his life used the term "cute as a button," but if ever he did, this would have been the girl to match the description: she was slight and fair with rosy cheeks and dimples and hair that fell to her shoulders in soft golden ringlets.

Dean knew the look in Sam's eyes too; though he was sure his brother would deny it, he was a total goner. Hell, he was _smitten._

Sam waved goodbye and slid into the passenger's seat, immediately reaching out to adjust the radio before Dean smacked his hand away. "How many times to I have to tell you not to mess with the dial?"

"I was just gonna turn it down."

"That counts as messing."

Sam rolled his eyes and looked out the window as the girl got into the Volvo, which pulled away from the curb and turned out of sight. Dean did his best to hide his smirk as he shifted the car into drive and asked, "Who's she?"

"Jess," Sam said. "She's on the volleyball team."

Dean pulled out of the parking lot and turned at the stop sign, heading for home. "She's cute."

"She's kinda young for you, don't you think?" Sam pointed out with a smirk that he tried and failed to hide. Dean shoved him lightly.

"Wasn't talking about me, bitch. I'm not a damn pedophile." Sam said nothing in reply, but fought back a blush; it crept onto his cheeks anyway, and he looked out the window until it faded. "She likes you," Dean offered.

Sam looked over at him again, and he looked endearingly hopeful for a moment before regaining his composure and his mask of aloofness. "What makes you say that?" he asked, keeping his tone passive.

Dean was having none of the indifferent act, and he smirked. "Girls don't laugh like that when it's just a pity laugh, Sammy. She thinks you're funny. And trust me, girls like funny."

"They do?" Sam asked, looking sheepish. Dean reached out and ruffled his hair until Sam pushed his hand away.

"You should ask her on a date."

"I just met her today!"

"So?"

Sam sighed, slumping against the passenger's seat. "The only reason she was there for this long after practice was because her mom had to work late. She was sitting on the bleachers watching us do our cool-down, and after, she came up to me and said she liked my jersey..." Sam paused, blushing again when he caught himself rambling, and he whacked Dean on the arm when he noticed his older brother chuckling. "Shut up!"

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it!"

"And just what was I thinking, huh?"

"I dunno. Something dumb."

Dean laughed again; he just couldn't help it, and he earned himself another solid hit on the shoulder. This one actually smarted a little. "C'mon, Sam," he prodded as he rubbed his shoulder. "Take her to go get ice cream or something, or whatever the hell it is you crazy kids do these days."

Slowly, Sam began to frown, his gaze fixing on the dash and growing heavy. He absently played with the strap of his backpack, listless fingers trailing across the frayed edge. "She wouldn't want to..."

"What the hell makes you say that? You said yourself, she likes your jersey." Dean smirked and nudged him, but Sam didn't perk up.

"She lives in the suburbs, with both parents and a dog and two older sisters. She wouldn't want to be around...someone like me."

Dean turned down the radio until the lyrics of _Thunderstruck_  were just barely audible. "Someone like you?" he asked, pressing his lips together into a tight line.

Sam shoved his backpack down off of his knees and onto the floor of the Impala. "You know what I mean," he mumbled, and he held his arms tight to his chest, sinking lower into the seat.

"Enlighten me," Dean said, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel, his hand tightening and relaxing around it rhythmically.

His little brother huffed and sat up straighter, his eyebrows pinched together in annoyance. " _Dad,_  Dean. She wouldn't want to deal with-" He stopped, and sighed, sinking down again. "Forget it." Dean clenched his jaw, at a loss. He couldn't stand seeing Sam this way, after observing first-hand how happy the kid had been talking to Jess. Part of him demanded he let it go, let the conversation drop, but another part of him – a small, but stubborn, downright asinine part of him – refused to do anything but press.

"Look, maybe...maybe you don't have to tell her about your messed up family life right from the start, you know? Get to know her. Find out what her parents are like, what she wants to do when she grows up, what her favorite ice cream flavor is. Then, when you tell her...she'll get you. And she won't care." He glanced over at Sam, and felt the knot behind his sternum unclench just a little when a tiny flicker of hope returned to Sam's eyes, though his brother's expression didn't change.

After a few minutes more of silence besides the opening guitar chords of _Problem Child_  bursting from the speakers at a low volume, a smile began to tug at the corners of Sam's mouth, small and timid. "She said she wants to go to Stanford," he said.

"Really?" Dean prompted with a smile of his own. Sam nodded.

"Apparently her family's gone there forever, since her great-grandfather or something. She wants to be a nurse."

"Nurse, huh? You got good taste, Sammy."

" _Ew,_  Dean!" Sam chided, but Dean didn't miss his laugh.

"Oh, come on! I meant she's probably smart. Nurturing, dedicated. Ya know, a good person to be around."

Sam didn't reply, but laughed to himself, and the knot in Dean's chest loosened just a bit more. His little brother's voice was quiet, almost shy, when he spoke up again, saying, "I want to go too."

"To Stanford?"

"To college," Sam said with a shrug. "I don't know where I want to go, or what I want to do, really...but I want to go to college." It didn't exactly take Dean by surprise; he'd known Sam would probably want that for a while. Hell, he'd thought about it for himself, if only briefly. But the tightening in his chest grew greater, not at the thought of his little brother leaving for some school that was potentially states away, but rather at the thought at him not being able to. Sam glanced up at him again, almost timidly, and asked, "Do you think I could?"

"Sure you could," Dean assured him. The answer felt automatic: what the big brother was supposed to say. "You got a brain as big as Einstein's in that puny skull."

Sam smiled at him. "Einstein's brain wasn't any bigger than anybody else's, you know. He just knew how to use it." He looked down at his hands, picking at his cuticle and chewing on his lip. That bad habit rearing its ugly head again tipped Dean off that some kind of storm was kicking up between Sam's ears.

Sure enough, Sam sighed before pressing further: "Even if I got in somewhere, and even if we could afford it somehow, do you think I could? I mean, do you think Dad would..." He trailed off, and Dean pulled up to the curb outside their house, taking the keys out of the ignition. Neither of them moved to get out.

Dean took a breath and looked down at Sam, waiting for his younger brother to meet his eyes before he said, "It's not always gonna be like this. Dad's not always gonna have all the power. When the time comes, if you wanna go, you go. He can get pissed if he wants, but in the end, it's not gonna be up to him. You hear me?"

He held Sam's gaze until Sam nodded, and Dean took solace in the fact that his brother seemed to believe it, if only just barely. He smiled, and ruffled Sam's hair again before patting him on the shoulder. "C'mon, Sammy. Let's get some dinner. You're probably starving after kicking that ball around for so long, huh?"


	2. Chapter 2

It was September twenty-third when it happened for the first time; Castiel knew the date because it was the day of their first English literature test, and he was dreading it. Crowley had been riding him hard from the first day, trying everything he could think of, it seemed, to trip him up. According to Dean, the test was bound to be easy, but Castiel wasn't so sure.

He slipped into the bathroom on the second floor as the bell rang at the end of first period, feeling slightly ill with dread, and he went into the stall farthest from the door and sat on the edge of the toilet so that he could fish his study guide out of his backpack and look it over. As certain as he was that he could handle any curve ball that Crowley happened to throw at him, his stomach still clenched the more he thought about it.

The door of the bathroom opened and scraped against the tile floor as it swung shut again, and two pairs of feet that Castiel could make out from beneath the stall door shuffled across the room. "I saw him come in here," one of them said, and Castiel recognized the low, smooth tone as that of Gordon Walker, who he'd seen hanging around Dean on occasion – a friend of a friend, according to him, and one that Dean had never been particularly fond of.

But the other, who Castiel placed when he chuckled and spoke – "Come out, come out, wherever you are." – was Christopher Alastair, a guy closer to Dean than Gordon would ever hope to be, and, in Castiel's opinion, just as vile, if not more so. He was always sitting with Dean, grinning in that way that made Castiel's insides squirm. His voice was even worse: sultry and rough with the ability to make him shiver the same way the sound of someone honing a knife did.

Castiel hadn't locked the stall, and he was just shoving his papers back into his bag and standing up when the door creaked open. Chris grinned at him darkly, and Gordon stared at him like he was a freak sideshow act. He took a breath, trying to push past them, but to no avail; they stood firm, keeping him where he was.

"I have class," Castiel said, with as much conviction as he could muster. Their smiles only grew, and it made Castiel nauseous.

"Somewhere to be, huh?" Chris sneered. "Isn't that a trip?"

Castiel stood his ground, keeping eye contact with both of them as best he could. "I need you to move."

"What are you gonna do if we don't?" Gordon asked icily. Castiel made another move to shove his way past them and was pushed back harder than before, almost tripping back onto the toilet.

"I'm not going to _do_  anything. I just need you to move."

Neither of them made any motion to do so.

Chris straightened up and wrung his hands together, jutting his unshaven chin out and looking down his nose at Castiel as he hissed, "New kid has been keeping secrets from the students of Edlund High." Castiel swallowed, a knot tightening in his chest that he wanted more than anything not to show. Gordon and Chris took a step toward him, and he took one back, leg brushing against the rim of the toilet as he tried to find a stance that allowed him better balance. "Not polite, is it?"

"Why don't you tell us what you've been hiding?" Gordon said, sounding horrifically pleased with himself. "Get it off your chest."

Castiel barely had time to get out, "I don't know what you're talking a-" before Chris grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him face-first into the cold water in the toilet bowl. Castiel fought, and thrashed, but Gordon held his legs, and he couldn't manage to get purchase on anything other than the slick edge of the toilet. His hands slipped and splashed in the cold water, flailing as they struggled for something to grab onto.

"Course you know what we're talking about," he could make out Chris growling. "That you're a slutty, faggot freak?" He dragged Castiel up, letting him manage a few ragged, choking breaths before dunking him back in, fingers digging painfully into the back of his neck.

Castiel's lungs were burning, his heart racing with adrenaline and terror. Water flooded his mouth and seeped down his throat, making him choke. With fumbling hands, he managed to get a grip inside the rim of the toilet bowl, underneath the seat, and he forced his head back, feeling it slam into Chris' nose. The fingers that had been digging into his flesh seconds before released him, and Castiel hauled himself up for air, coughing up the water that had made it into his lungs when he'd tried to scream.

Chris was slumped against the wall of the stall, blood dripping from his nose. Gordon glared at him, and Castiel hardly had a moment to brace himself before he was coming for him, fist cocked back and ready to fly. Castiel's arms felt like jelly when he tried to raise them to shield his head. He wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn't, and he stared, sure he was about to get a fist to the face, but the blow never came.

Another hand grabbed Gordon by the shoulder, tugging him back, and suddenly Gabriel was standing between him and Chris, glaring at them both. "Walker, Alastair," he barked. "The hell do you think you're doing out of class?"

"Free period," Chris croaked, pressing the back of his hand against his nose to stem the flow of blood. Gabriel pulled him up to his feet.

"Don't even try me," he said coldly. "I know both of you are in Miss Barnes' religion class. Trust me, she's complained to me enough about you two for me to know." He reached out, grabbing a wad of toilet paper and handing it to Chris. "Clean up, for Christ's sake, Alastair. You can't be bleeding all over the floors."

Chris glared as he pressed it to his nose, both at Gabriel and Castiel.

"This is his fault," Gordon rasped, nodding toward Castiel. "He gave Chris that bloody nose-"

Gabriel laughed, but the sound of it was bitter cold. "Suppose he shoved his own head into that toilet then too, huh?" He fixed Chris and Gordon both with a hard, angry stare. "Think I don't know your reputations? Think you can convince me this is just some innocent misunderstanding? Milton's office, the both of you." He practically spat the words at them, and Chris barely had time to open his mouth to say something else before Gabriel roared, " _Now!_ "

With one last chilled glare at Castiel, both of them slunk out of the bathroom, and Castiel hauled himself up. "Are you going to send me to the principal's office too?" he asked bitterly, his voice rough and his throat raw.

Gabriel snorted. "For what?"

"For giving Chris a bloody nose." This time, Gabriel laughed aloud.

"Frankly? I'm impressed." He went to the paper towel dispenser and pulled out a handful, handing them to Castiel, and Castiel used them as best he could to dry his hair and face. "You got your head shoved in a toilet. Pretty sure whatever you did in the heat of the moment in this case is excusable. He'll be fine." He shrugged. "And maybe that's poor disciplinary action on my part, but you won't see me losing sleep over it, if I can be honest."

Castiel silently dabbed at his face, and Gabriel crossed his arms and rocked on his heels. "You okay?" he asked. His voice was soft, and the sheer contrast from the fury Castiel had heard it before had him questioning if he was really talking to the same person. "I know it's a stupid question, but just humor me."

"I didn't drown," Castiel relented after a moment.

"That's a plus."

"They're nothing I can't handle."

"Clearly."

Castiel grabbed his backpack and slipped it over his shoulders, grimacing down at the wet wad of paper towels in his hand. "How did you know what was going on?" he asked.

Gabriel shrugged. "I was walking to class, heard a commotion. Bullies don't tend to be that creative, so kids getting swirlied isn't as much of a thing of the past as I wish it was." He scratched the back of his neck and stared down at the toilet with a frown. "I know those two. Alastair's a fan of shoving people into lockers, and Walker isn't exactly above it."

"Like I said, they're nothing I can't handle." Castiel slid past him and tossed the paper towels into the trash. "I don't think I'd fit in a locker anyway."

"Castiel." He paused with his hand on the door handle, and Gabriel sidled up behind him. "Why don't you go pay a quick visit to the nurse?"

Castiel sighed. "I don't need-"

"Let me rephrase. Go see the nurse." Gabriel shrugged. "She'll help you get dried off anyway."

"I have class. _Your_  class."

"Which means you won't need to give me a note," Gabriel said, and Castiel's shoulders slumped when he realized there was no point in arguing. "I'll print you off a copy of today's powerpoint. Now go on."

Castiel nodded as Gabriel shooed him out, and he didn't look back before turning to head down the stairs.

The nurse's office was across the hall from the entrance to the auditorium. With class in session now, the halls were almost empty, so at the very least he didn't have to deal with any strange looks from passersby wondering about his wet hair and shirt. He was just about to push the door open when it opened for him, and a boy – young; Castiel guessed he was a freshman – shuffled out, wearing a pair of glasses and a deep frown under a mess of dark hair.

"Next time, if you want to go home early, choose something easier to fake," a woman chimed from inside. "Like a stomach ache. Not that it will work anyway, but it'll save you some embarrassment." Castiel briefly considered turning around and leaving. After all, there was nothing wrong with him, but he didn't have more than a moment to mull it over before she spoke again: "Come or go. Don't stand there all day."

Castiel closed the door behind him as he came in, glancing at the empty desk just inside the office. The front of it was plastered with posters about the importance of vaccinations and frequent hand washing, and the rack on the wall beside it was full of pamphlets about all sorts of things: the common cold, STD's, teenage pregnancy, flu, depression, bullying, and abusive relationships. Absently, he plucked one about allergies out of its plastic holder and flipped through it.

There was a loud crinkling noise as the woman who Castiel could only assume was the nurse – Nurse Moseley, judging by the name on the card at the front of her desk – pulled a new sheet of sterile paper over one of the cots in the back. "You here to tell me you think you're coming down with a case of smallpox too?" she asked, not looking at him.

Castiel arched an eyebrow. "No."

Finally, she turned to face him, brushing her hands together and sighing heavily as she came toward him, looking him over. "Boy, you look like you just went for a swim."

"Something like that," Castiel said. Nurse Moseley grabbed a towel out of a nearby cabinet above the cots and handed it to him. It was scratchy against his skin, and it smelled like industrial detergent, but it did dry his hair better than the paper towels had, at least.

When he pulled it off his head, Nurse Moseley was frowning at him, her arms crossed and her many bracelets clinking together and glinting against her dark skin and white coat. "Did you get your head jammed in a toilet?" she asked, her tone a mixture of fed-up and empathetic. Castiel pulled his lips back sheepishly and shrugged, and Nurse Moseley sighed again, taking the towel from him and saying, "You're the fifth this month. One poor boy had to get stitches. Hit his head on the way down. Come here, sit."

"I'm fine," Castiel insisted when she tried to pull him toward the cot. "I just needed to dry off."

She eyed him a moment, lips pursed tightly. "Was I asking?"

He blinked at her once before relenting, and sitting down on the edge of the cot. Nurse Moseley got right to work, holding his eye open and shining a light into it. He sat still and let her as she moved to the other. "Sure you didn't hit your head?"

"I don't think so."

"Don't think so?"

"It was all a little bit of a blur, honestly."

"I don't see any bumps," she said as she ran a thumb across his forehead, tugging his head forward gently to comb through his hair. When she brushed against the back of his head, he winced, and she raised an eyebrow at him.

"It wasn't from getting dunked," he told her preemptively. "Not directly, anyway. I...hit him. To get him off me."

To his surprise, she chuckled. "Good for you," she said. "What's your name?"

"Castiel," he said. "Novak."

"Well, mister Novak..." Nurse Moseley stood, walking around to the other side of the cot. "Just want to see you're breathing okay, and then I'll let you go. Want to make sure you don't have anything clinging on in your lungs." He felt the cold press of a stethoscope against his back, between his shoulder blades, and when Nurse Moseley said, "Deep breath," he took one, then another, and another. He coughed a bit.

"Were you warned about me too?" he asked as she moved the cold stethoscope down his back. He heard her laugh to herself.

"Should I have been?" she asked. She patted his back lightly, prompting him to take another breath, which he did. It caught in his throat again, and he coughed, the foul taste of toilet water blooming in his mouth again and making him grimace.

His voice was rough as he spoke: "I transferred here...A few of my teachers already seemed to know me, like they'd been...discussing me before I even got here. I wasn't sure how far it went."

"Well, this is the first I've heard of you, though the administration doesn't tell me much of anything that doesn't have to do with lice outbreaks or cases of food poisoning in the cafeteria." Castiel shot her a worried look, and she chuckled. "It's not nearly as common as you'd think. Just stay away from the meatloaf if you can." She pressed the stethoscope against his back once more, and he took a final breath before she had to ask. "I wouldn't worry about it too much."

"The meatloaf or the gossip?"

"Both," she said. "But mostly the latter. Students come and go. People talk. Not much you can do about it. Unless you burned down your old school or something along those lines, I guarantee nobody's going to say much behind your back that you need to fret over."

Castiel said nothing in reply as Nurse Moseley came back around and hung the stethoscope around her neck again.

"Alright?" he asked her, coughing once more into his palm.

"Alright. Just keep an eye on that cough. Don't let it get any worse."

"I won't."

He moved to stand up, but she stopped him. "You don't have to let anyone treat you bad, Castiel," she said. "Now I'm not saying you run around beating people up in the parking lot, but don't let them flatten you up and toss you aside. You understand?"

He stared a moment before nodding. "I understand," he said. The smallest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Good." She let him stand, and she nodded toward the door. "Go ahead then."

He was just making his way toward the door when it opened again, and suddenly he was face to face, once more, with Christopher Alastair. His face was bloodstained, and his nose was swollen, blood still flowing slowly over his lips as he glared, and Castiel could see his pulse pounding in his neck out of rage. "Well look who it is," Chris said icily. "Freak."

"What did you go and do to yourself now, Alastair?" Nurse Moseley groaned, hands on her hips. "I swear it's like you can't go one week without getting yourself in some kind of trouble."

"Yeah, well I have him to thank for it," Chris spat, pointing at Castiel. "Principle Milton kicked me out of his office because I couldn't stop bleeding all over his desk." Nurse Moseley's eyebrows shot up.

"You got that bloody nose from this one?" she asked, a knowing gleam in her eye.

Castiel barely noticed that he was speaking until the words had already left his mouth, hard and sure: "I think it was well deserved." He almost expected Chris to punch him right then and there; he certainly looked like he wanted to, but Nurse Moseley grabbed him before he got the chance, tugging him over to the cot.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up before you bleed all over my floor too." She turned toward Castiel for a moment, and he swore he saw her smile at him.

The back of his head was sore, and he was sure he smelled less than pleasant, but he managed to make it through the day without much trouble. By the time he got out of his calculus class and lunch rolled around, he actually felt like he could eat something, which pleasantly surprised him. Luckily enough, he didn't see Christopher Alastair or Gordon Walker in the cafeteria as he got his tray, and he went over to the table by the window where Charlie had already sat down, a comic book open over her lunch tray and her food all pushed to the side.

"Do you even eat?" Castiel asked as he sat down, and Charlie glanced up at him and rolled her eyes.

"Of _course_  I eat. But the new issue of _Star Trek_  came out today and I haven't had a chance to read it yet. Priorities, you know?" Castiel gingerly lifted the front cover and glanced at it as he speared a bite of mac and cheese with his fork. Charlie read on for a few moments more, barely acknowledging him before she wrinkled her nose and looked up at him again. "You smell like a toilet."

Castiel sighed. "Is it really that bad?"

"If your goal is to not smell like a toilet, then yes. What the hell happened?" Suddenly, she gasped to herself and stared at him, mouth agape. "You didn't get dunked, did you?"

Castiel didn't reply as he continued to eat. Charlie closed her comic book, a sure sign of genuine worry. "You did, didn't you? Who was it? Do I need to beat them up?"

"Nobody needs to beat anyone up," Castiel assured her. "Honestly, sometimes you sound just like my sister."

"Sure it's not just the hair? Us redheads are pretty fiery." Charlie grinned at him, and Castiel couldn't stop himself from mirroring the expression, if only slightly. She leaned toward him. "Seriously, though, are you okay? I mean, besides smelling like a toilet bowl..."

"Fine," he said tersely, and he rounded his shoulders, trying to block out the rest of the cafeteria as best he could so that he could eat in peace. Charlie sighed and went back to her comic book, but only for a moment or two; before she got no more than two pages further in her reading, she slapped it down on the table again.

"You know you can't let them shove your head into things like that, right?" she said, and Castiel glanced up at her, raising one eyebrow.

"Who says I let them?" he asked. He picked up his fork and pushed his peas around his plate without eating them, adding somewhat sheepishly, "I think I may have broken a guy's nose..."

Charlie gaped at him and then finally grinned. "Holy shit, you serious?" Castiel allowed himself a small smile as he nodded, pride welling in his chest no matter how much he tried to push it down.

He reached up and rubbed the back of his head with a slight grimace and said, "It hurt..."

"You know, they always say you should just use your head to get out of bad situations, but I don't think they mean literally." He rolled his eyes at her.

"I'm not sure it's really your place to lecture me on the merits of restraint considering the circumstances under which we met."

"It was dodgeball!" Charlie said defensively. "I had to go all out! Otherwise I would have dishonored the dodgeball gods." She stared down at her milk and muttered, "It's not my fault you weren't wearing a cup or something."

"I didn't foresee it being necessary."

"Till you met me, you mean," she said, giving him a playful nudge in the arm. "And I said I was sorry, anyway. And hey, if I hadn't meant it, would I have sat with you on the bleachers for all that time after, would I? No. I would have claimed my victory and reveled in it."

Castiel arched one eyebrow as he peeled his orange. "I just wish your  _victory_ hadn't necessitated me being doubled-over on the gymnasium floor."

"There's such a thing as collateral damage in battle, you know."

"And that attitude is why you had to sit out the next time we played," Castiel said. Charlie just shrugged.

She was just sipping the last of her milk through a straw when her eyebrows shot up in surprise; she was looking over Castiel's shoulder, and before he could ask her what she was staring at she said, "Winchester, ten o'clock."

"Wha-"

The word was barely past his lips before Dean dropped into the seat next to Castiel, leaning on one elbow and looking him over. "Heard what happened in the second-floor bathroom," he said, his expression unreadable. Castiel blinked at him, then looked back over at Charlie.

"Word travels fast," she said, sounding impressed. She took a few hurried bites of her lunch and started to gather her things. "Think that's my cue. Time to make like Poison Ivy and leave." She smiled to herself, the expression fading just a bit when Castiel and Dean's faces remained relatively blank. "Get it? Poison Ivy? Leaves? Okay..."

Castiel watched her go, part of him wishing that she would turn and come back. He had no way of knowing how Dean would feel about his giving Christopher Alastair a bloody nose, given that the two were friends, no matter how odd Castiel thought their relationship might have been. He looked over at Dean uneasily; the expression he saw on his face was hard, though Castiel wasn't sure whether it was really angry.

"You make a habit out of giving people bloody noses?" he asked.

"I never meant to hurt him," Castiel said, though he left unspoken how satisfying it had been to see Chris staggering, blood flowing over his fingers. "Not badly, anyway."

"Oh, that makes it okay then," Dean said. "Look, he's a dick, alright? I get it. But he's still my friend, and you don't get to just bash his head in-"

Castiel huffed, anger flaring behind his ribs. "He shoved my head in a toilet," he spat. "What was I supposed to do?"

Dean just gaped at him, for a solid half a minute after, completely silent. Castiel turned his gaze away, staring at the floor. He wasn't sorry for what he'd done to Christopher Alastair. He didn't need to apologize for defending himself.

"Oh," was all Dean said, and then he clenched his fists on the table and scowled. "Son of a _bitch._ "

"I take it he didn't tell you that." Castiel kept his tone soft, trying not to let any venom leak into his words as he spoke. Some filtered through anyway, and Dean tangled his fingers in his own hair.

"No...no he didn't. Figures." He spat the last word out like it tasted foul. "Didn't say anything about that part. All he said was..." He trailed off suddenly, looking uncomfortable, and Castiel leaned a little closer.

Curiosity began to take the place of anger for the moment as he prompted, "What?"

Dean seemed uneasy, like he wasn't sure how to word what he wanted to say next. He folded his hands in his lap. "Rumors get around fast here, man. And Chris might have said some things..."

Suddenly, it clicked. Dean knew. He was sure that whatever Chris had said to him was some warped and inaccurate shadow of the truth, but he knew parts of it at least. "I think I know what you mean."

"Look, maybe he was full of shit. I wouldn't put it past him. He says stuff sometimes, stuff that gets under peoples' skin. Doesn't make it true."

Castiel suddenly felt defensive. "It's not like there would be anything wrong with it if it were."

"Well, no. No, of course not. I mean, I don't care if you're...ya know..."

"If I'm what?" He eyed Dean carefully.

"Well...you know...I mean, it's not like it makes a difference to me if you're gay-"

Castiel slammed his hand down on the table, his tray rattling. Dean jumped an inch or two up out of his seat. "I am _not gay_ ," Castiel spat, and he sighed heavily, slouching and pretending not to feel Dean's eyes boring holes in the side of his head.

"Okay..." Dean said carefully after a moment's tense silence. "Not gay...Look, don't worry about it, okay? Just a rumor. They spread like wildfire. Believe me, I know."

Castiel's voice was soft, almost resigned as he said to the wall, "I'm pansexual."

"Pan...huh?"

"It's different."

"Well, yeah, I guess...It's just...I don't..."

"You don't understand," Castiel said. He huffed bitterly. "It's alright. Most people don't."

"Hey, wait a minute!" Dean reached out, nudged Castiel in the shoulder and waited until he was looking up at him again before saying, "Look, I don't care if you're pansexual or whatever. But what the hell's going on with you, Cas? I mean, you got your head shoved in a toilet and gave a guy a bloody nose." He huffed out a humorless laugh. "Not exactly a good way to start off your day, you know? But there's something else bugging you."

"How would you know if something's bugging me?" Castiel challenged, and Dean laughed again, lightly this time.

"I've got a younger brother who's at the height of puberty. Trust me, I'm good at picking up on things like that." He glanced down at Castiel's tray; Castiel's appetite had left him, and after a few halfway enthusiastic bites, he'd merely taken to pushing his food around his plate without eating much. Dean nodded down at the half-eaten mac and cheese and asked, "You done?"

"What?"

"Your food. You done?" When Castiel nodded, Dean stood, grabbing the fork that had been left on the edge of the plate and taking a generous bite of pasta before patting Castiel on the shoulder. "C'mon."

Castiel stood, grabbing his tray, and he followed Dean toward the doors after putting his things in the dish return. "Where are you going?" Dean said nothing, but merely tilted his head toward the doors and continued in that direction, glancing over his shoulder every so often to make sure that Castiel was still in tow.

They went down the hall, ducking into the auditorium, and Castiel grew more and more confused as Dean went up to the stage and sat on the edge, patting the space next to him. "What are we doing here?"

"Figured you wouldn't want to talk in the cafeteria," Dean said with a shrug. "Those walls have ears, man."

"I hadn't noticed," Castiel mumbled sarcastically, and he sat himself down beside Dean, rubbing the back of his head. After a moment's silence, he said, "I thought you'd be angry."

"Why?"

"Chris is your friend, isn't he?"

"Yeah, but he's also an asshole. And besides, he deserved it."

"You really think so?"

"Hell yeah," Dean affirmed, nodding enthusiastically. "That son of a bitch had it coming. I'd give him another one if it were me. Hell, still might next time I see him." Slowly, he sobered, and he wrung his hands together. "Look, I'm sorry. Alastair's a dick. Walker too. They deserved what they got." The corners of his mouth turned down when he said the second name, like it tasted bitter on his tongue. Castiel's brow pinched in confusion.

"How did you know Gordon was-"

"If Chris is shoving someone's head in a toilet, Gordon's gotta be hanging around him. The guy gets off on it." He rolled his shoulders, as if trying to shake off an unpleasant chill. "They're assholes, both of 'em."

"Then why do you spend time with them?" Castiel asked, and Dean looked down at his hands.

"Can't stand Gordon, but he hangs around with Chris so much that I can't help but wind up being around him. As for Alastair...I don't know. I know he's a dick, but he was the first person here to really get me, you know? We all have our share of problems, and Chris just sort of...understood me." He chuckled to himself, somewhat darkly. "Ain't sayin' it's healthy, but it's one way to make it the next few years to graduation anyway."

Castiel didn't reply, but pressed his lips together tightly and planted his hands on either side of his legs, gripping the edge of the stage. He couldn't understand why someone like Dean, who – as rough and slow to trust as he seemed – was so kindhearted and loyal would hang around someone like Chris Alastair, who was most certainly, just as Dean had said, a dick.

He spoke in hushed tones when he said, "You shouldn't be hanging around people like that, Dean."

"What are you, my dad?" Dean's voice was bitter. Castiel bit his lip, fidgeting. "Look, don't worry about me, okay? I'll give Alastair a good piece of my mind next time I see him, and maybe part of my fist too."

A relationship based on fist fights couldn't be healthy, Castiel wanted to tell him, but Dean's lips were pressed together in a tight line, and his jaw was set tightly in a way that told Castiel that anything he said would just ricochet.

The silence was a long and uncomfortable one, but Dean's expression began to soften, and he spoke again just before Castiel thought he wouldn't be able to stand it anymore: "So...pansexual, huh?" Castiel hummed his affirmation. "Guessing you weren't spreading that around voluntarily."

Castiel shrugged. "I never planned on keeping it a secret," he said. "But it doesn't exactly come up in conversation much. The only people who knew were Charlie and Balthazar. Whether they mentioned it to someone else or somebody just overheard one of our conversations, it doesn't really matter now." He fought back a sigh and let his shoulders slump. "I'd expect most people don't even know what it means to begin with."

Dean shifted awkwardly before saying, "I'd like to." Castiel glanced up at him, and Dean shrugged. "Explain it to me."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Castiel blinked at him. For all that he'd lectured others in his own head on the subject, now that Dean was asking him to explain, staring at him as he waited for him to speak, he found himself at a loss for words. Where should he start? How much should he say?

"Well..." he began, "I guess it's like...Think of it this way..." He found himself facing down a mental block, and he huffed, but then he thought back to his lunch, and to the brownies that had been sitting under a heat lamp at the end of the line, and he straightened his back and met Dean's gaze.

"Do you prefer cake or pie?" he asked. Dean scoffed.

"Pie, dude. Cake doesn't even compare."

"Okay, well...say, you're at a party, and there's cake and pie. Now, you might only like pie, and that's fine, but there are other people who like cake, and others who like both. But there are more desserts than just cake and pie. There's brownies, and ice cream, and cookies."

"Ah, food metaphor," Dean said with a smile. "Now you're talking."

Castiel nodded, continuing: "I guess it's just that...well, I like all of them. And if I get a craving for sugar..." He let out the smallest of laughs, feeling just the slightest bit ridiculous, but finding that the comparison made the explanation easier than he'd ever found it. "It doesn't make a difference what I'm eating, as long as it's sweet."

Dean's grin was magnificent, and Castiel felt it was contagious. "Now that's something I can understand. Nothing wrong with a little sweet tooth."

"I suppose."

"I can see where you're coming from, too. I mean, pie is awesome, but cake's not bad, and-" He paused, ears turning red. "I mean...you know,  _actual_  cake, not...not your metaphor cake." He scratched the back of his neck, and after a moment, he added with an easy smile and a nervous chuckle, "Almost seems kinda poetic."

"Poetic?" Castiel asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Well, yeah. I mean, it doesn't matter to you what someone's got going on between their legs, right? So it's almost like...you see the person first, you know?" He smiled to himself, shrugging a bit, almost shyly. "Must be kind of a nice way to see the world."

"Yes," Castiel said after a moment. "I suppose it is."

Dean shuffled in place next to him, seeming uncomfortable. "Look..." he finally said, slowly, sounding unsure. "If you want...I can talk to him. Chris, I mean."

"Don't bother," Castiel said, holding up a hand. "He's nothing I can't handle." He managed a small smile. "I'm more than a quiet biology nerd, you know."

"You're not a nerd." Castiel merely arched an eyebrow at him. "Alright, fine. Maybe you are. But hey, maybe I am too, for liking Vonnegut and Tolkien. So what?" They slipped into silence again, staring out at the empty seats as if waiting for an audience to arrive.

"You know, just for the record," Dean continued after a moment, "I don't agree with him. Alastair, I mean. You know that, right? I don't give a crap if you like pie, or cookies, or fuckin' cake pops or whatever else."

"I know, Dean."

"But...you know, a lot of people aren't gonna feel that way. If Alastair and Gordon know about you being...whatever, they're gonna tell people."

"I know."

"And they don't get it. I mean, maybe I don't either. Not completely. But I understand better than they do, and they're gonna tell people whatever the fuck they feel like saying, even if it's bullshit."

"I can deal with rumors. And while I'd rather avoid getting my head shoved in anything else, if I have to deal with it, I will. I'm not a helpless bookworm, Dean. I don't need protecting."

"I know that. Of course I know that. I just-"

"Dean." Castiel reached up, put a hand on Dean's shoulder, and lingered a moment until Dean looked back up at him. He let his hand slip away. "I can take care of myself. Have some faith." Dean smiled, and Castiel's eyebrows hiked up as he recalled something important, a soft, "Oh!" escaping from between his lips. He grabbed his backpack and dug through it, drawing out Dean's book. "I completely forgot...I didn't even think about you needing it to study."

"Forget it, Cas," Dean said. "I found an old copy in the attic while I was cleaning it out a couple of weeks ago. It's kinda banged up, but doesn't mean I can't use it." He pushed the book back toward Castiel, and Castiel stared down at it, cradled in his hands. "You keep it."

Outside in the hallway, the bell sounded, and both of them hopped off the stage. Castiel's heart leaped. "We're late..." he said, looking up at Dean again.

"For Crowley's class," Dean finished, and he bolted before Castiel could say any more, expletives tumbling from between his lips.

As it turned out, Dean hadn't been exaggerating when he'd told Castiel about Crowley's strict adherence to schedule. They'd arrived five minutes late for the test, and while they hadn't been locked out altogether, Crowley had informed them – with an infuriatingly hard to miss air of smug satisfaction – that they'd be docked a letter grade for tardiness. Arguing was pointless, so Castiel sat down knowing from the get-go that his best hope was a B.

Luckily, Dean had also been right about the test not being too difficult. Castiel had poured over their assigned reading in the weeks since the first day of class, determined not to let Crowley get the best of him again, and it had apparently done him some good. Dean finished ten minutes before him, slapping his paper on Crowley's desk with a grin and sauntering out of the classroom knowing full-well that the teacher was glaring at him as he went. Castiel wondered if Crowley gave him the same sour look after he turned in his own test, and he found himself not caring if he did.

He was tired when the day ended. His backpack was heavy with his books and binders, and his mind even more so with the knowledge of all the homework he had for the evening. It was nothing Castiel wasn't used to, but he hardly looked forward to it. And on top of it all, his encounter with Chris and Gordon and his conversation with Dean weighed on his mind. Maybe it was just his imagination when he caught glimpses out of the corner of his eye of people whispering to each other as he passed, but it did nothing to calm his buzzing thoughts.

There was just one more stop he had to make before meeting Balthazar to walk home; as he headed up the stairs and down the hallway, he pointedly avoided looking toward the bathroom. It was a memory he would have preferred to forget, which was precisely why part of him hoped that Gabriel had already left, so he could get the powerpoint slides the following day before class instead of having to linger for more conversation about what had happened.

Gabriel was still in his classroom when Castiel got there; he was standing at his desk, looking a piece of paper over with a furrowed brow, a lollipop stick poking out from between his lips. Castiel fidgeted, pulling on a fraying thread at the edge of one of his backpack's straps. The room felt different, so quiet and empty, lacking the hum of students filtering in for lecture.

Gabriel reached across his desk, grabbing a messenger bag with a bright yellow biohazard symbol on it. He tucked the papers inside and looked up, meeting Castiel's eyes before Castiel had even gotten the chance to knock or take a step into the room.

Castiel shuffled forward a few inches. "I'm sorry I missed class," he blurted; it was the first thing that came to mind.

"I'm the one that insisted you did," Gabriel replied, opening a drawer and looking through it. Castiel wondered how he could find anything in that mess of papers and folders, but it only took a moment for Gabriel to let out a quiet hum of success and draw out the powerpoint slides. "Really, maybe I should be apologizing, but I'm not going to. So you shouldn't either."

He held out the slides for him, but when Castiel reached out to take them, he yanked them out of reach again. "You have a second?"

"I..." He could have lied, could have said that Balthazar was waiting for him or that he had an after-school job to get to or a sick grandmother he needed to visit in the hospital. But he didn't claim any of those things. "If this is about this morning, I-"

"It's not," Gabriel said. After a moment's contemplation that he spent shifting the lollipop from one cheek to the other, he added, "Well, that's a lie. It is. But not entirely." Castiel looked at him questioningly, and Gabriel's expression was sympathetic as he asked, "You okay?"

"Besides smelling like a sewer, I'm fine."

Gabriel laughed, setting the powerpoints on the desk and leaning his weight on them. "I guess I should be honest with you for a second. It can hardly hurt, anyway." He took the candy out of his mouth by the stick and pointed the bulbous, sticky end of it at Castiel. "If anyone asks, we didn't have this conversation."

"Alright," Castiel said slowly.

Gabriel paused a moment, chewing on his lip before saying, "I know what happened at Saint Zach's." Castiel felt his stomach plummet to his feet.

"Oh."

" _Oh,_ " Gabriel parroted. "Relax. I'm not judging you. And I don't need any details."

"Principal Milton told you...and the other teachers too?"

"Some of them," Gabriel affirmed with a nod. "Nothing nearly as incriminating as you'd think, though. He was pretty vague. But believe it or not, I used to teach there myself, and I still keep in touch with a few people there. When Michael told me you were going to be in my class and that there were some things I should know about you, I figured it was worth my time to get a few...other sides of the story." He popped the lollipop back into his mouth and rolled his eyes. "Official write-ups can only be so reliable."

Castiel wasn't sure if he wanted to turn and run or tell Gabriel everything right there and then. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked, his voice strained.

"Because my older brother runs this school, and my _other_  older brother is on the Board, so I know how infuriating it is to know that higher-ups are keeping something from you, and to know that they don't care, and that it doesn't make a lick of difference. I know what happened at Saint Zach's, and it doesn't matter to me. Not like there's anything you can do about it, whether you regret it or not."

As awful as it sounded, and as much of a hole he'd dug himself into in the process, Castiel couldn't say that he did. All he could think to say was, "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," Gabriel said. "Like I said, if Michael finds out about this, I'll be drawn and quartered in front of all the faculty, but I'll make sure to fail you first." His face was a mask, and Castiel honestly couldn't tell to what degree he was joking. "Though I'd rather you not fail...You like biology, don't you?"

Castiel nodded.

"Figures. You seem like the type."

"The type?" Castiel asked.

"The type that likes knowing how things work. Did you ever take apart radios as a kid? Just to see how they ticked?"

"No," Castiel said with a shake of his head. "I was more the type who captured honeybees."

"Even better." Gabriel held out the powerpoints again, and this time, he let Castiel take them from his hand. He leaned against the desk once more, eying him a moment before adding, "One more thing. How'd you like to be my lab assistant?"

Castiel blinked at him. "Lab assistant?"

"You have first period free, don't you?" Castiel nodded. "All I'd need you to do is come in on lab days and help me set things up. I could give you some extra credit, if you even need it."

"Why are you asking all of a sudden? It's only been a few weeks. You don't even know if I'm any good at biology at all."

Gabriel arched an eyebrow at him, pausing a beat before saying, "How do planaria get oxygen?"

"What?"

"How. Do planaria. Get oxygen?" Gabriel stared at him, waiting for an answer.

"Diffusion," Castiel finally said.

"How many haploid gamete cells are produced after both meiosis one and two?"

"Four."

"What does 'DNA' stand for?"

"Deoxyribonucleic acid."

"What's the main product of the Calvin cycle?"

"Glucose."

"During the day or night?"

"Day."

"Because?"

"Because the Calvin cycle requires ATP from the light reactions to function."

Gabriel smiled. "I think you're plenty good at biology, Castiel," he said. "That, and I bet you're competent enough to avoid breaking any beakers. That's really all I need." He crunched the lollipop between his back teeth.

Dean was in a piss-poor mood by the time he made his way out to the car in the parking lot and found Jo leaning against the door of the Impala. "Scuff up my baby, and I'll scuff up your face," he said. Jo merely grinned at him, all teeth and dimples, but did lean forward off of the car.

"What the hell did Chris do now?" she asked him, tilting her head to the side to try and keep his gaze when he glared down at the sidewalk. "I saw you talking to him down by the track field. Well, I say talking. You looked like you were about to give him a black eye to match that bloody nose. I'm surprised you didn't, and just a little bit disappointed." She laughed as she spoke, as if the mere thought of Chris Alastair getting even more bruised and battered lifted her mood. It wouldn't surprise him if that were the case; Jo had never been fond of Chris, only putting up with him because Dean still hung around him, rather in the same way Dean tolerated Gordon. She managed, for the most part, to avoid being outright rude to him on the few occasions they shared more than a few curt words, but it was no secret how little she liked him, and Alastair cared as much about that as Dean cared about Crowley hating his guts.

Namely, she didn't give two fucks.

"I wanted to. I was this close." He held up two fingers, just barely an inch apart, and held them there in front of his face for a moment before letting his arm go limp by his side again. "Got himself suspended, and Gordon too."

Jo's eyebrows arched. "About damn time. What the hell happened?"

"Chris was just...ya know, bein' Chris."

"Which is never a good thing," Jo finished. "Does it have something to do with the bloody nose he had earlier? Did one of those poor freshman he's always shoving in lockers finally fight back?"

Dean tried and failed to hide an amused snort. "Wasn't a freshman." Jo leaned on the hood of the car again, patting the space next to her. Dean sighed dramatically, tilting his head back toward the skies, and he sat back gingerly against the Impala. "You know Castiel Novak? He's a new guy."

"That quiet junior you have bio and English with, right? I see you talking to him in the cafeteria sometimes." He saw it click in her eyes, realization dawning. "Oh my god, did he give Alastair that blow to his schnoz? Damn, I didn't think he had it in him."

"Yeah, you and me both. Apparently the guy can really handle himself."

Jo was quiet a moment. "Ya know...I heard he was gay. Bet that's why Chris went after him. And Gordon too, right? Homophobic assholes..."

"Cas isn't gay," Dean corrected her, somewhat without even thinking. "He's...well, he's not gay." No matter how shy Cas wasn't about making the truth about his sexuality known, Dean just didn't feel the information was his to share. He would have felt strange using the same metaphors Cas had used to explain it to him, and somehow, he just didn't feel they would carry the same meaning secondhand.

All Jo said was, "Oh," and she shrugged. "Well either way, Chris and Gordon sure think he is. And a few other people too. I overheard one girl in my chemistry class going on about how it was a sin and all. You have no idea how much self-control it took not to punch her in the gut. You should be proud of me for managing to hold back." She nudged him, harder than she really needed to, and Dean found himself smiling again.

"Yeah, alright. I am proud of you. Now c'mon, off the paint job. I got stuff to do before I go pick up Sammy from soccer practice."

"Okay, okay," Jo relented, pushing herself up off the hood as Dean went over to the driver's side door. "Tell him I say hi."

"Can do."

He started up the car and drove out of the parking lot, suddenly feeling exhausted.

Castiel winced as Balthazar trailed a finger over the darkening bruise on the back of his neck. "It's really not...too noticeable," Balthazar offered, but Castiel only scoffed.

"It's the worst one I've had in a while. I'm rusty. Far too rusty. I never should have let him get the upper hand." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Doesn't hurt so much now, but it's far from subtle, isn't it?" He slumped back in his desk chair and sighed. "That's the first time I've had my head shoved in a toilet, anyway. Would you call that a milestone?"

Balthazar chuckled. "Not sure, Cassie. In any case, it's probably a good idea to try and avoid it from here on out, if you can."

"I don't plan on letting my guard down like that again." He got out of his chair and sat on his bed instead, back resting against the headboard. Balthazar took his seat and swiveled absently. After a moment, Castiel looked over at him again. "Did you tell anyone I'm pansexual?" Balthazar stopped swiveling.

"It...wasn't intentional," he said after a moment. At least he had the decency to look guilty.

Castiel rolled his eyes, sitting up on the edge of the bed. "I'm not mad. I told you I was never planning on keeping it a secret. Who did you tell anyway?"

"Some girl my history class," Balthazar told him with a shrug. "She kept going on and on about how one of her friends came out as bisexual and about how very uncomfortable it made her. I just stepped in and told her that one of my closest friends happened to be pansexual, thank you very much, and it's never made a difference to me."

Castiel blinked at him, feeling oddly...proud, if a little irked. "Well, that's...noble of you."

"I'm not completely foreign to the concept, you know."

"Still...probably best to let me be the one to spread the word about my sexuality from now on."

"Absolutely, Cassie," Balthazar said, and his smile began to fade. He slumped forward in the chair, twiddling his thumbs. "You know...I never meant to cause you any difficulty...Sometimes I just talk without thinking, and it's hardly good for me, or for anyone else." He sighed. "The point is...I'm-"

Castiel got up and pushed the back of the chair, so Balthazar spun a few turns and fell silent. "I keep telling you, Bal," Castiel said. "Apologies don't suit you."

"No they do not," Balthazar agreed. He patted Castiel on the hip and got up from the chair, swaying just the slightest bit from dizziness. "For what it's worth, I think you should wear that bruise as an _insigne d'honneur._  It can remind you of how you gave the _imbécile_  who gave it to you a bloody nose."

"You're never going to let me forget that, are you?" Castiel asked, the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips.

Balthazar slung a hand across Castiel's shoulders and grinned at him. "Of course not. I've never been more proud of you."

Castiel let himself linger a moment before pulling away, his mind wandering to other things, things that made his stomach turn. Before he even realized he was speaking again, he said, "Gabriel knows about what happened at Saint Zachariah's."

Balthazar's expression became one of concern. "Gabriel?"

"My biology teacher. Apparently they had some kind of meeting about me. I'll bet all my teachers know, including Crowley. No wonder he seems to love toying with me."

"Cassie, Cassie, Cassie..." Balthazar chided softly. "You know you couldn't keep it a secret forever...It was bound to come up again eventually. You can't always bury these things as deep as you'd like."

Castiel went over to his window and crossed his arms over his chest, huffing indignantly. "I was hoping I could."

"It's not all bad, though...so a few teachers know about your little...incident. It could be worse."

"How?" Castiel challenged, one eyebrow raised.

"Oh, don't do that. Don't go trying to make it seem worse than it is. _C'est la vie,_  Cas. Sometimes your past just won't let you go. Doesn't mean you can't let it go."

Castiel blinked at him before finally smiling. "I think that's the deepest thing I've ever heard you say."

"I'm full of surprises," Balthazar said, leaning against the door frame and smirking. "Haven't you guessed that about me by now?"

Castiel had been dreading dinner since the moment he'd stepped through the front door. He'd tried and failed to keep his mind off of it as he'd showered and washed the stench of public high school toilet from his hair and skin while humming a tune by Train. "I need a sign...tell me that you're here...all of these lines are being drawn across the atmosphere..." he'd sang to himself as he'd rinsed his hair for the third time, finally satisfied that the smell was gone.

His thoughts had wandered over and over again as he'd worked on his biology pre-lab, unable to concentrate on the measurements and conversions with his mind racing the way it had. Now, as he descended the steps and headed for the dining room, he felt as though somebody was digging cold fingers into his stomach; it did nothing for his appetite.

"What are you worried about, Cassie?" Balthazar asked him in hushed tones at the bottom of the stairs. "You managed to get lucky enough that nobody from school called home about this. Maybe it's a sign that it's all going to be fine, hm?"

"Maybe..." Castiel breathed. "But she'll notice the bruise..." He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck and winced, but Balthazar tugged his arm away.

"So make something up. How hard can that be?"

"I can't lie to her-"

"Of course you can! Just...say you tried out for the school wrestling team and things got a little rough."

" _Wrestling?_ " Castiel scoffed incredulously. "You can't be serious."

Balthazar didn't respond, but when Castiel turned from him again, he nearly ran straight into his mother, who had seemed to materialize out of thin air in the door way to the dining room.

Naomi Novak was an imposing figure, and had been as long as Castiel could remember. She was still dressed in her work attire, her gray suit jacket and skirt perfectly fitted to her frame, and her hair still up in a tight bun, not a strand out of place, even after a long day. Castiel had always found her almost constant upkeep of a near perfect appearance bordered on downright unnatural, but when she was a single mother and CEO of Heaven's Gate Life Insurance company, he could hardly blame her for being particular.

"Wrestling?" she asked, raising a thin eyebrow at Castiel. "Who's going out for wrestling?"

"Nobody," Castiel was quick to reply, not giving Balthazar the chance. He passed his mother and went to set the table, not even needing to be asked. While he gathered the silverware, Balthazar got the plates, and just as he'd dreaded she would, Naomi followed him into the adjoining kitchen as he went to find an extra knife.

Her hand brushed against the back of his neck. "Is that a bruise?" she asked, more disapproval in her voice than worry, though Castiel did detect both.

"Yes," he said.

"Are you going to tell me how you got it?" Castiel was already headed back to the dining room to put out the utensils.

"It's nothing."

It was the wrong thing to say, and he knew it. He inwardly winced the moment the words left his mouth. Though Naomi said nothing more on the subject for the moment, he knew from the way her lips pressed together in a hard line, her eyes lingering on his face as she turned, that the conversation was far from over.

He was spooning a hearty portion of corn onto his plate a few minutes later when she brought it up again: "So, Castiel," she said, smiling and folding her fingers together behind her plate. "Why don't you tell me how you got that bruise on your neck?"

He looked over to Balthazar – who seemed sympathetic, but said nothing – and then went back to his food, reaching for the chicken next. "It was just a...misunderstanding." Naomi furrowed her brow and tilted her head to the side, her lips pursed. "Just a...conversation that got a bit more...physical than I thought it would."

"So you got into a fight," Naomi finished pointedly, carefully placing a chicken breast on her plate and cutting into it.

"It wasn't a fight, really."

"You don't get bruises from friendly conversation, Castiel." She leaned forward, putting her fork down. "Did word of what happened at your old school get out? I was very clear with Principal Milton that I didn't want rumors spreading."

"No, nothing like that," Castiel assured her. Out of the corner of his eye, he could have sworn Balthazar was trying to subtly mime a warning against saying anything more, but he was already speaking again: "Though, a few people may have found out about my...preferences."

Naomi sighed, and the sound made his appetite fade slightly. "I did warn you that it wasn't smart to let that get out..."

"I'm not going to lie about it," Castiel said, careful to keep his voice in check.

"Who said anything about lying, Castiel? Not everyone is as understanding about these things as I've been. I'm just trying to keep you safe."

"I know," he forced, choking down a bite of chicken. The seasoning was far too strong. It usually was, when she made it this way, but especially so tonight.

"I don't think you do," Naomi pressed. "Castiel, this school isn't like Saint Zachariah's. You'd be surprised what people can use to hurt you."

"Believe me, I'm well aware that Edlund High is nothing like Saint Zachariah's." He didn't bother hiding the bitterness in his tone.

"I don't want you getting into another  _incident_ , Castiel. I just have your best interest at heart-" He was already standing, not meeting Naomi's gaze as he balled up his napkin and dropped it on his plate. "Where are you going?"

"Upstairs. I'm not hungry."

"If you won't finish your dinner, I don't want you sneaking down in the middle of the night for a midnight snack," she called after him. He was already halfway up the steps.

Balthazar stood outside his room later that night and knocked on his door every few seconds for about ten minutes before finally saying, "You know you can't hide in there forever, Cassie."

"I'm not hiding," Castiel replied. "I'm sleeping."

To his credit, he did try, but he didn't manage to actually fall asleep until nearly 3am.

The productivity bug bit him early the next morning, and despite only getting about three hours of sleep, Castiel woke up early and eager to put the previous day behind him. It was a pleasantly crisp Tuesday morning, and by six-thirty, just as the sun was peeking out over the horizon, he was already in his sweats and out the door, jogging down the road and feeling his head clear more and more with each step.

His endurance needed work, to be sure; he felt winded far too quickly for his liking, but he kept at it, only slowing his pace enough to soothe the burn in his chest a bit. But despite his muscles tiring faster than he would have liked, he felt his mood lifting.

He had gone too long without this. There had been a time not too long ago when he could run for miles before feeling tired. He'd slip on his running shoes any time his mind fogged over too much for him to think clearly and just run until the haze lifted. By the time he'd get home, he'd be stinky and breathless, but he'd almost always catch himself smiling in the bathroom mirror when he'd go to shower.

He could feel it working now, despite how his calves burned; the pain of it cut through the angry buzzing in his skull. Every step and ragged breath eased his racing thoughts.

Almost inevitably, his mind wandered to Dean, and he didn't stop it from doing so. Castiel had to admit that Dean's open-mindedness had surprised him, albeit pleasantly. He would have thought that hanging out with people like Alastair and Walker would have made him more judgmental, but obviously, he'd been wrong. And he was all the more thankful for it. Maybe with any luck, he could count Dean as a friend.

He cut his run short and headed back to the house just before seven, so that he'd have enough time to shower, change, and grab some semblance of breakfast before heading to school for the day. It would be a better day than its predecessor, he told himself; it would certainly be hard for it to be any worse.

He was sore when he slipped into the library just as the first period bell rang. He adjusted his backpack on his shoulder and tugged at the collar of his blue turtleneck; it wasn't nearly cold enough for his choice of clothing, but it did hide his darkening bruise. He wasn't afraid of judgment, of course, but he didn't quite like the idea of having to tell the same story over and over. It was bound to get boring.

So, he'd pulled his old turtleneck out of the closet and put it on after his post-run shower. Maybe he'd experiment with scarves later on.

He meandered through the fiction section and looked around for an empty table; there were plenty of available desks around the edge of the library, but he'd never been fond of study carrels – they made him feel just the slightest bit claustrophobic. Besides, he liked being able to spread his books and papers out more than they allowed.

There were no completely empty tables, but one near the back window did draw his eye. It had only one occupant at the moment: Dean Winchester.

He was hunched over what Castiel quickly recognized as their biology lab manual, attempting the pre-lab with his textbook open to his right. His fingers were tangled in his short hair, and every so often, he let out a hushed, frustrated grunt. From the looks of things, it was not going very well.

Castiel quietly made his way over, tapping him on the shoulder. Dean jumped as he turned. "Geez, Cas," he breathed. "I didn't even hear you. You make a habit out of popping up outta nowhere?"

"I can try to be louder if you'd like," Castiel said, and Dean finally started to smile. "I didn't think you had a free period now."

"I don't," Dean admitted. "I have stats. But I just couldn't handle math this morning. I barely slept. But I figured I could at least try to get _something_  done." He did look tired, but he didn't seem eager to say anything more about his reasons for not sleeping, so Castiel didn't press.

"Is that biology?" he asked after a moment.

"Yeah..." Dean sighed, his shoulders slumping and his mood seeming to take a turn south when he remembered the task at hand. "Pre-lab. I hate these damn things." He glanced at the seat across from him, and Castiel took it as a sign that he should sit, so he did, plunking his backpack down on the table and starting to unpack it.

After a moment of watching Dean tap his pencil against the line where he was meant to fill in the answer for question two, Castiel spoke up again: "You know...I've been told I have something of a knack for biology. And I did the pre-lab last night, or most of it anyway. If you want, I could..." He trailed off, and for a few seconds, Dean just stared at him. He wondered for a moment if his bruise was showing. He tugged at the collar of his turtleneck.

Finally, Dean said, "You offering to help?" Castiel nodded. Dean looked uncertain. "I think I'm good...I'm-" He stopped, and sighed deeply. "Alright, confession time? I always felt weird about the whole...tutor thing. I had one last year, for statistics, which obviously didn't help, because I failed and had to retake the whole damn class. And of course, she got an A, so it obviously wasn't her problem."

"Dean."

"I mean, I just got so damn tired of her being so fucking condescending, all the time, you know? I know I'm no good at stats. I'll be lucky if I can pass the damn thing, but you don't need to look at me like I'm an idiot."

"Dean."

"I'm not an idiot. I'm just not great at math. Lots of people stink at math. I bet William Faulkner stunk at math-"

Castiel reached out and put his hand on top of Dean's, just to get him to stop talking. It worked, but Dean stared down at his hand like it had turned into some kind of fascinating alien creature, and Castiel quickly pulled his back. "You're not an idiot," he said, to battle the awkward silence that was looming before them. "You just didn't get along with your tutor. That's not your fault." He offered a smile. "Besides, I didn't mean I was going to be your biology tutor or anything. I was just offering to help you with one pre-lab."

Dean flexed his fingers and went back to tapping his pencil. "I know." He sighed, but, much to Castiel's relief, the sound morphed quickly into an almost shy laugh. "Biology, man...never could get it. Now chemistry...Chemistry, I can do. Don't know why I have such a block when it comes to biology."

"Well, biology is mostly chemistry...especially when you get down to the basics." He reached over and pointed to a diagram in Dean's lab manual. "Like cell membranes, for instance. The phospholipids line up the way they do because the tails are hydrophobic and the heads are hydrophilic. That's the whole reason the membrane evolved the way it did. That's chemistry right there. Interactions between molecules."

Dean looked down at the diagram, then back up at Castiel, and started to grin. "You kind of are a nerd, you know that?"

"You're the one with a hard-on for Vonnegut." The words were out of his mouth almost before he'd even processed them, and for a moment, he worried Dean wouldn't appreciate it. But Dean threw his head back and laughed so loudly that the elderly librarian behind the desk across the room glared at him from behind her thick horn rimmed glasses and shushed through thin, cracked lips before returning to her outdated copy of _Cosmo._

"Yeah...yeah, you're right," he said, wiping away a mock tear.

Castiel tapped his fingernails against his notebook a few times before saying, "I have an idea."

"What's that?"

"I could help you with biology, if you want. I'll even do it for free."

Dean grinned. "I could get behind that."

"And in return," Castiel continued, leaning down to pull out his laptop, "You can help me with my English paper."

"You mean the one that's do at the end of October?" Dean asked. "You're working on that already?"

"I like to get things done ahead of time if I can manage it."

Dean crossed his arms over his lab manual and regarded him carefully. "You're freaking smart, though. Why would you need help with one little English paper?"

"You seem better with words than I am," Castiel said with a shrug.

"Bullshit. You talk like you're addressing the queen half the time."

"Regardless, when I go to write a paper, I just...suddenly it's like I'm thinking in a different language that I don't know how to put down into words." Dean arched an eyebrow at him. "I'm sure I can manage if you don't have the time, but-"

"Nah. Screw it. I'll help you out." He grinned, and Castiel felt himself doing the same. "You free after school?"


	3. Chapter 3

"Name the four primary macromolecules necessary for life."

Dean tapped his pencil against the faded wood of the table, staring out the window at the track field. His biology notebook was sitting by his elbow, turned over so that the only thing visible was the back of one of the pages, decorated with an impressively intricate drawing of Darth Vader. But Castiel wasn't here to admire Dean's artistic skill; he reached out and whacked him on the arm. "Dean."

"Oh, what? Sorry. Zoned out for a minute."

"I noticed," Castiel said, his expression softening when he saw Dean suppress a wide yawn and rub his eyes. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

"Proteins, carbohydrates, lipids and nucleic acids," Dean said, resting his cheek on his palm. "I was studying. Proud of me, teach?"

Castiel nodded, worry still nagging at the edge of his mind as he looked down at the textbook again. It was October first, a date that Castiel had marked on his calendar several weeks prior: the date of their first major biology test. "What are the monomers that make up carbohydrates?"

"Monosaccharides," Dean mumbled. He had folded his arms in front of him, leaning over to rest his forehead on his wrist, so that he was speaking to the table more than he was speaking to Castiel.

With a sigh, Castiel put down the book, tapping Dean on the hand until he looked up at him, sleepily. "Are you alright?"

"I told you, I was up late studying. And you got me up an hour earlier than usual on top of that."

"You got yourself up. I only suggested coming in early to review before the test."

"Yeah, well, here's hoping I don't fall asleep during the damn thing..."

Castiel reached into his backpack, pulling out his thermos and handing it to him. Dean stared at it without moving to take it until Castiel nudged it toward him. "What's this?"

"Coffee. I didn't drink it all this morning, and it seems like you could use the caffeine."

Carefully, Dean opened the thermos and sniffed at the contents. The coffee wasn't steaming hot anymore, but it was still warm. "And here I thought you'd drink it black."

"Cream, no sugar," Castiel corrected, and Dean shrugged and took a generous sip. "You know you'll do fine on this test. I have faith in you."

Dean chuckled into the thermos, wiping his lips with the back of his hand as he put it down again. "Faith, huh? Sure hope it's not misplaced." He handed the thermos back to Castiel, who screwed the lid on tight again and put it back in his bag.

"I don't think so. You're very smart. Even if biology isn't your subject, you're good at retaining information. When you're not sleep deprived, anyway."

"Anyone can remember stuff. It's not that hard."

"Well, can you remember the monomers of proteins?"

"Amino acids."

"Nucleic acids?"

"Nucleotides."

Castiel leaned back in his seat, smiling to himself. "See?" he said confidently. "My faith isn't misplaced."

Dean was just beginning to smile back when the first period bell rang, and he groaned. "Cross your fingers and say a prayer that I don't fall asleep during stats," he said as he stood, gathering his things. "Again." Castiel lifted his hand, his index and middle finger crossed over one another, and Dean chuckled. "Thanks."

Castiel finished his biology test in just twenty minutes, but he spent most of the rest of the period checking over his paper. "Checking over his paper," of course, meant glancing over at Dean every minute or so to see how he was doing.

His eyes wandered so much that part of him worried Gabriel would think he was cheating; he even caught the teacher's eyes once or twice and saw him raise an eyebrow at him. But Castiel was already finished and made no move to change anything on his paper, and besides, Dean was halfway across the room anyway. There was no way he could have cheated off of him even if he had wanted to.

Nearly half of the students had finished and left by the time Castiel turned his paper in, nodding silently at Gabriel and glancing back at Dean. "He'll do fine," he heard Gabriel whisper, and Castiel looked over at him again, blinking in surprise. "Just worry about your grade, Castiel. Let him worry about his."

He offered a small, understanding smile before slipping out of the classroom.

"And just how long were you planning on keeping this _belle dame_  a secret from me, Cassie?" Balthazar crooned, patting Castiel on the shoulder as he sat down beside him. Castiel rolled his eyes, but Charlie positively beamed.

"Wow," she said with a smile. "Is that French?"

" _Oui, bien sûr!_ " Balthazar said. He reached out and took Charlie's hand, kissing her knuckles. She giggled.

"Girl could get used to this." Castiel gave up on fighting back an amused grin as he watched the two of them, and Charlie narrowed her eyes knowingly. "You must be Balthazar."

Balthazar shrugged. "Guilty. And you must be the lovely Charlie. Heard so much about you."

"Do you ever stop flirting?" Castiel groaned good-naturedly, and Balthazar wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close.

"Don't expect so until I'm cold in the ground, Cas," he said. "Really, when were you planning to introduce me to _mademoiselle Bradbury?_  Haven't been trying to sneak around without me noticing, have you?" He grinned at Castiel, playfully, and Castiel wiggled his way out from under his arm.

"Nobody's doing any sneaking," he said, taking a long sip of his milk.

Charlie gasped extravagantly, looking scandalized. "Castiel! Did that time in the second floor janitor's closet mean nothing to you?"

Castiel almost choked, and Balthazar threw his head back and cackled. "Sometimes I wonder why we're friends, you know that?" Castiel said, coughing.

"We're friends because you pretend to appreciate my Star Trek jokes. And if I ever want to do a group cosplay, you're a shoe-in for Spock. Isn't that what friendship is?"

"I should sit with you two more often," Balthazar chuckled, wiping away a tear. "It's like dinner theater."

"Where have you been anyway?" Charlie asked, dipping the corner of her grilled cheese sandwich into a cup of watery tomato soup and nibbling on it. "I kept thinking you were Castiel's imaginary friend or something since I never see you in the cafeteria."

Balthazar leaned back in his chair, propping his ankle up on his knee. "Forgive me for not loving the atmosphere in here," he said, looking around the crowded cafeteria with distaste. "Call me picky, but I bring my own lunch, and I prefer to eat alfresco, weather permitting."

"Oh my god, it's like Europe swam across the Atlantic and enrolled in the public school system," Charlie said. Castiel choked back a snort, and Balthazar smirked at her.

"I may just brave the trials and tribulations of meatloaf day more often if I get the chance to see you again, love."

"You're wasting your breath," Castiel warned him in a sing-song voice.

"Oh, am I?" Balthazar challenged. When he turned back to Charlie, she was pursing her lips sheepishly.

"Kinda, yeah. I mean, don't get me wrong, the accent totally would have worked if you'd had...well, boobs, to be honest."

Castiel did laugh this time, and Balthazar let out a soft "Oh," of realization. "Well," he said. "Can't blame me for trying, can you?"

A pair of hands clamped down on Castiel's shoulders, making him drop his spoon into his pudding before the chair on his other side dragged noisily across the floor and Dean plunked himself down into it, grinning at him. A girl with wavy blonde hair sat next to him, leaning forward to smile at Castiel. "Cas, buddy, I owe you my fuckin' life," Dean said.

"So this is the guy who kept you from failing your bio test," the girl said with a lighthearted laugh. "Guess I should thank you. Every time he gets a bad grade, I have to drag his sorry ass out of a pit of self-loathing."

"I take it the test went well then?" Castiel asked, a flood of relief washing over him.

"Well, nothing's official until I see a letter, you know? But I made those essay questions my bitch, so that's gotta count for something, right?" He glanced around the table, then back at Jo before adding, "Oh, this is Jo, by the way. Jo, Cas. Cas, Jo."

Reaching over Dean, Jo extended a hand, which Castiel took. "I've seen you around," she said. "And heard about you. Was wondering when I'd get around to actually meeting you."

"Likewise," Castiel said. "This is Charlie-" He gestured toward her, and she waved. "-and Balthazar." Balthazar reached clear across the table to take Jo's hand, kissing it like he had Charlie's earlier.

"Charmed," he said.

Castiel smacked him on the arm. "Stop it."

"What, am I not allowed to talk to anyone now?" Castiel pushed him back to his side of the table, but Jo was smiling as she reclaimed her hand.

"You're a bad influence," Castiel told him.

Balthazar smirked. "I certainly hope so." Castiel thought he saw Charlie mouth, "Wow..." under her breath as she fought back a laugh.

Castiel turned back to Dean and Jo. "So," he said, gesturing between the two of them. "Have you two been dating long?" He figured it was the wrong thing to say when Jo choked on her breath and Dean's ears turned pink.

"Me and Jo?" he asked, flustered. "Uh...we're not...I mean we aren't..."

"We're friends," Jo finished, sounding just the smallest bit wistful. "We're not...together or anything."

"Oh..." Castiel felt his own neck start to flush red. "I'm sorry. I thought..."

"You guys are just together all the time," Charlie finished, swooping in to save him. "We just sort of figured."

Dean toyed with his can of soda and forced a smile. "Nah, it's fine. I mean, I get it. Actually, people think that a lot."

"My mom threatened to set the dogs on him if he ever broke my heart," Jo said with a chuckle, and she nudged Dean with her elbow. "Remember? You gave me a ride home from the movies and she stood in front of your car until you got out."

"Oh, trust me, I remember," Dean said, smiling. He turned to Castiel. "Word of advice. Don't ever piss off Ellen Harvelle. She'll end you, slowly, painfully and creatively."

Castiel forced a laugh. "I'll keep that in mind."

He found himself in a pleasantly good mood later as he put his tray in the dish return, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as Dean wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Still, something nagged at him, deep in his gut, and his smile faltered as he said, "I'm sorry...I never meant to make you feel awkward."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, but realization flashed through his eyes before Castiel had the chance to answer. "Oh, you mean Jo?" Castiel nodded. "Don't worry about it, man. It's kind of...I mean it _was_  a little complicated, I guess, but it was last year. She was a freshman and I was a sophomore, and she kind of...had a thing for me. It wasn't completely one-sided, I guess, but it never turned into anything. Anyway, we're past it now." He chuckled, but it felt forced, and he shoved his hands into his pockets. "Can't help those freshman crushes, you know?"

Dean fell silent, and Castiel didn't press further. Instead, as they headed down the hall toward Crowley's classroom, he asked, "Are you free after school today?"

"Think so, for about an hour, anyway. Why?"

"Honestly, I was hoping maybe you could give me a hand with my paper...I've come to a bit of a standstill on it. It might be nice to have someone to bounce some ideas off of."

Dean grinned at him, lingering outside Crowley's door when they reached it. "Well, thanks to you, I'm pretty sure I managed not to fail my bio test," he said as he opened the door. "Least I could do, right?"

By the time Dean sat across from him at the table in the back corner of the library, Castiel was already running his fingers through his unruly hair in frustration, staring at his laptop and wishing that somehow, the words would write themselves. His copy of _A Brave New World_  was open beside him, but looking at the words he'd highlighted on the page only made him feel worse.

"Making progress?" Dean asked, and Castiel merely groaned in response. "Is that a no?"

Castiel sighed. "I think _hell_  no would be more appropriate," he said. Dean snorted on a laugh as he put his backpack on the table and got up, moving the Castiel's side.

"Okay then. What have you got so far?" He was reading Castiel's introduction – which was all he'd done at that point – before Castiel had said anything more, his eyes scanning intently over the words with a concentration that almost rivaled that which Castiel had seen there during the biology test that morning.

He sat down without saying a word, and Castiel couldn't help but feel just the slightest bit self-conscious. "What do you think?"

"Well, it's a good start," Dean said, scratching at the stubble that was growing in on his jaw. "What's got you so pissed about it anyway?"

Castiel huffed as he tapped a the keys on his laptop, lightly. not typing anything. "I just don't know where to go with it. I have my thesis down, but I don't know how to start my first point. It's like...it's there, but I don't know how to word it..." His fingers tangled themselves in his hair again, and he rested his elbows on either side of his computer.

Dean was silent a moment or two more, speaking up just as Castiel looked over at him: "Maybe don't start from the beginning, then," he said. "I mean, think of it like a line...Two points, right? But you don't start drawing the line from point A and hope it ends up at point B somewhere. You figure out where point B is, mark that sucker down, and then draw the line toward it."

"So...you're saying I should just...jump in wherever feels most comfortable, and then work backwards?"

Dean shrugged. "It's what I do. Maybe it'll work for you too."

"I'll give it a try," Castiel said as Dean got up and sat back down across the table from him again, getting out his books. "I don't want to keep you if you have somewhere to be-"

"Aww, come on, man. Give me some credit. I might as well get some stuff done anyway, if I'm here already. And this way, if you get into trouble with your body paragraphs, I'll be here to rescue you." He grinned, and Castiel felt something in his chest flutter happily.

They worked in silence for a few minutes, and Castiel quickly found his fingers flying over the keys. Before long, he'd pounded out a page and a half, and he smiled to himself when he realized how easy it was to go back to the start and connect what he'd written back to the thesis. "You know," he said, "You'd make a good teacher."

Dean looked up from his notebook, but when Castiel glanced at it, he noticed that instead of writing anything, Dean had been sketching what looked like a howling wolf. "What?"

"A teacher," Castiel repeated. "You'd make a good one." Dean scoffed, smiling as he went back to his drawing, as if Castiel had just told him a vaguely amusing knock-knock joke. "I mean it, Dean."

When Dean looked back up at him, he looked almost hopeful, but the expression quickly faded into an almost sad smirk. "Never really thought of it as a career option, but thanks, I guess."

Somewhere in the back of Castiel's mind, a voice told him to remain silent, to let it drop. It wasn't hard to see that Dean was uncomfortable with the whole thing for whatever reason, but curiosity just wouldn't take its claws out of him. So after a moment's hesitation, he leaned forward and asked in a quiet voice, "Why not?" Dean looked surprised. He raised his eyebrows at Castiel before looking down at his paper again.

"Because...I mean I kind of already know where I'm headed, career-wise, you know?"

Castiel had forgotten about his paper by now. "Where's that?"

"My dad owns a store that sells hunting supplies," Dean said with a shrug, playing with his mechanical pencil. "I already work summers there, stacking boxes in the back room and stuff. Only makes sense I'd go there after I graduate."

"Is that what you want to do?" Castiel asked, and Dean picked up his notebook and slammed it closed, starting to stand.

"I got stuff to do," he mumbled, reaching for his backpack. "I gotta go-"

"Dean-" Castiel pushed up from his chair, hand reaching for Dean as if to grab him and pull him back. His fingers met only air, but Dean paused all the same. "I'm...sorry. If it's a tender subject, I'll drop it. I didn't realize..."

For a long few moments, they just stared at each other, Dean with his backpack halfway slung over one shoulder and Castiel hoping that he'd change his mind and stay, even if the conversation was over. He was sick of saying the wrong thing, and with Dean, it seemed to happen all the time. Even so, he didn't want him to leave.

Finally, Dean let out a long sigh and dropped his backpack, letting himself drop into the wooden chair and making it creak. Castiel sat down slowly, eyes on him the whole time, as if he might scare him off.

The silence wasn't exactly a comfortable one; Dean sat, staring into space for what seemed like forever as Castiel halfheartedly tried to type out a few more words of his paper, glancing up at him every other letter. After a long few minutes of quiet, Dean said, softly, "It's not what I want to do."

Castiel looked up in surprise and forced himself to remain quiet, waiting for Dean to speak again. He did, shoulders slumping: "It's just...kinda what I feel like I need to do."

"Why?" Castiel wanted to say, but instead he just let out a quiet, "Oh."

Dean didn't look up at him as he continued, "Honestly, I'd be lying if I said part of me didn't want to go off to college somewhere. I mean, Sammy wants to more than anything, in a few years." A fond smile slipped onto his face at the mention of his brother. He wrung his hands in his lap. "But it...it's just us and my dad, you know? And he's...he's not really..."

He trailed off, leaning forward and rested his chin on his crossed forearms. "Anyway...you don't need to hear my sob story. You've got a paper to write."

Castiel knew for a fact that he wasn't going to get another word written now. "It's not a sob story," he said.

"Really? Kind of sounds like one."

"I wouldn't mind hearing it," Castiel offered. "If you felt like telling it, anyway."

Dean studied him carefully, as if trying to decide whether he was really worth trusting with what he was considering sharing. He shrugged after a moment and said, "Not really a whole lot to tell, honestly. Dad's a drinker, Sam's sick of putting up with his shit, so that leaves me to deal with most of it." He tapped his fingers against the wood beneath them. "Most nights, I cook my own dinner. Not all that interesting, really."

He toyed with the spiral wire on the spine of his notebook, and Castiel debated what to say next. He couldn't claim to understand. Not really. While they did have something in common in that they were both the children of a single parent – though what had happened to Dean's mother was still a mystery that Castiel didn't feel right asking about – their situations were very different. Naomi hadn't so much as touched anything more than the occasional glass of wine in his living memory, and he'd never had to worry about taking care of a younger sibling.

But he had to say something, and finding some common ground seemed like the something worth pursuing. "Well, I can't say I know what that's like," he said. "But I do know a thing or two about absent fathers." Dean said nothing, but one eyebrow arched in mild interest, prompting Castiel to continue. "My dad hasn't been around for a very long time."

"Did he die?" Dean asked, solemnly. Castiel shook his head.

"No. He...left. When I was just a baby. I don't remember it. My mother despises him for it. She never talks about him. She used to send my sister and me to our rooms for bringing him up when we were little." Despite himself, he did laugh a bit at that, remembering how he and Anna would hunker down in her room and make up stories about where Dad had gone and what he was doing. She was only a year older than Castiel; she hadn't understood the reality of their father's leaving any better than he had.

In their minds, they'd created their dad the spy, the space explorer, the FBI agent. They'd pretended that maybe he would come back one day with presents and fantastic stories about far-off planets or top-secret government experiments. He never had, of course, but it had just given them more time to tell stories until they'd finally grown out of the fantasy.

"I'm sorry," Dean was saying as Castiel snapped out of his memories, and he shook his head.

"I even looked for him for a while," he said, the words tripping past his lips before he even realized he was letting them out. "A couple of years ago, I started looking in phone books and on the internet. My mother never even knew what I was doing. At least not for a while." He sighed. "When she found out, she put a stop to it, of course. By then, I'd nearly given up anyway."

"Do you know where he is?"

Castiel smiled, but it felt empty. "He sends me a card on my birthday. Anna, too. I think it's the only thing my mother would allow. There's never a return address. For all I know, she could be slipping them in the mail herself every year."

Dean remained silent for a long time after Castiel had finished speaking and let the smile slide off his face. It seemed that he was facing the same dilemma that Castiel had a few minutes earlier: he wanted to say something, but nothing came to mind that he was sure wouldn't just make Castiel feel worse. But Castiel didn't feel bad, per se; the subject was a sore one, but not so sore that it could ruin his mood when it came up. Still, his chest ached dully after he stopped speaking. He forced the smile back onto his face as he looked up again, and whether it was to reassure Dean or himself that he was alright, he wasn't quite sure.

"Anyway," he said, and he turned back to his laptop screen again, pretending to type and getting nothing down except a few rambling words which he was sure he'd delete later. "It's over and done, so I try not to dwell on it."

"Yeah, I guess," Dean agreed, his voice quiet. He lingered for a moment before slowly standing, and Castiel watched him as he did. "I gotta go, man...You okay to work on that paper yourself?"

Castiel nodded. "I think I can manage."

"Alright..." He turned to leave, but stopped after he'd gone just a few steps. "You know, Cas...for what it's worth, your dad? He didn't know what he was giving up."

It made something warm bloom in Castiel's chest that he couldn't name, and he stared blankly at Dean, unsure what to say besides, "Thank you," which he just barely managed to coax out of his throat. Dean nodded.

"See ya, Cas," he said. "Good luck on your paper. And ah...thanks. You know, for the study help and all."

Castiel's smile wasn't forced this time. "You're welcome," he said. "And thank you, too."

_**Castiel Novak:** _ _I need to talk to you._

_**Castiel Novak:** _ _Anna, I know you're on. I really need to talk to you._

_**Castiel Novak:** _ _ANNA._

_**Castiel Novak:** _ _Fine, don't answer. But I'm going to talk to you anyway. Or talk AT you, as the case may be._

_**Castiel Novak:** _ _I'd talk to Balthazar, but knowing him, he'd just crack jokes, and that's not what I need right now._

_**Castiel Novak:** _ _[this message has been deleted]_

_**Castiel Novak:** _ _You know what, never mind._

_**Anna:** _ _I SAW THAT._

_**Castiel Novak:** _ _Oh, there you are._

_**Anna:** _ _YOU'RE CRUSHING ON THIS DEAN GUY?_

_**Castiel Novak:** _ _I never said "crushing." And how did you even see that in the five seconds before I deleted it?_

_**Anna:** _ _I'm your big sister, Castiel. I see all._

_**Anna:** _ _YOU'RE FALLING FOR HIM AREN'T YOU?_

_**Anna:** _ _ARE YOU GOING TO ASK HIM OUT?_

_**Anna:** _ _CAS DON'T YOU DARE GO OFFLINE NOW!_

_**Anna:** _ _CAAAAAS!_

Castiel and Dean fell into a tentative schedule when it came to their study sessions. Every Wednesday and Thursday, after school, they met in the library, went over the lab results from that day's biology class, and then brainstormed ideas for their papers for English. Dean swore he was working on his, although he never brought his laptop or worked on it while they were there. Castiel wrote and revised and re-wrote and edited, and by mid-October, he felt he was nearly done, and a solid two weeks before the due date, too.

Dean read over what Castiel had deemed his final draft as Castiel went over Dean's lab report, checking unit conversions and decimal placements. He wasn't sure what possessed Dean to speak, but when he looked up and asked, "Have Chris and Gordon given you any trouble lately?" Castiel blinked at him in surprise.

"What?"

"Chris and Gordon. They haven't been messing with you, have they?"

"I told you I could handle them," Castiel said, going back to the lab report.

"I know. But you're my friend, Cas. I just want to be sure, you know?"

"You're also Alastair's friend," Castiel reminded him. "So wouldn't you know if he was already?"

Dean scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah, but Chris knows I can't stand it when he brags to me about all these kids he shoves in lockers. It makes me want to punch him in the mouth. But I mean...you're okay?"

"I'm okay, Dean. I know you mean well, but really, I don't need you to protect me." He twirled his pen in his hand. "But...for what it's worth, no. Neither of them have bothered me lately."

It wasn't a lie; the few times that Castiel saw Chris Alastair or Gordon Walker, the worst they did was shoot him a few dirty looks. It seemed that as much as either of them had tried to spread whatever rumors they wanted about him, word had also traveled quickly around the school about why Chris had worn a bandage over his swollen nose for a week and a half, and luckily enough for Castiel, nobody had tried to slam him into any lockers or toilets after that.

The attacks he had endured had been more subtle, though they hadn't been numerous: dirty looks in the hallway, people whispering as he passed, notes finding their way into his locker sporting words like "faggot" and "freak," always anonymous. It had been easier than he'd expected to let them roll off of him like water off of feathers.

Of course, he didn't tell Dean about any of this. There was no need. This was something that he could handle.

Dean chuckled, "He's probably scared of getting his nose broken for real," he said. "Course, he'd never admit that."

"With any luck, it won't have to escalate to that," Castiel replied calmly, and Dean laughed until the librarian glared at him.

When he'd managed to quiet himself down, he leaned across the table and said, "Then I guess it's kind of pointless for me to say that if he ever messes with you like that again, I'll rip his lungs out?"

"I appreciate the offer," Castiel said. "But I don't need protection." He looked down at the report again, marking an incorrect unit conversion in the second question. "When I was back at Saint Zachariah's, I studied Kenpo Karate. I was about to test for my brown belt when I-"

He cleared his throat and paused before finishing: "Left..."

Dean waited a beat before leaning clear across the table. "Dude," he said, "I get if you don't want to talk about it, but I swear to God, you act like you fuckin' murdered somebody or something. What the hell did you do?" Castiel said nothing, so Dean continued to fill the silence. "I mean, I'm kind of assuming you got kicked out, right? Not judging or anything, but the way you talk about it, that's sure what it sounds like."

"I didn't get kicked out," Castiel muttered after a few seconds' hesitation. That seemed to surprise Dean.

"Seriously?" Castiel nodded. "Well christ, why do you act like you assassinated the president or something whenever it comes up?" Dean lingered there, leaning toward him, and Castiel hesitated, caught between wanting to tell him the truth and wanting to demand that he drop it. Dean's expression softened, ever so slightly, and he said, "You know, no matter how bad you think it is, I bet it's not nearly that horrible."

The sigh that escaped Castiel as he slouched left him physically tired, and Dean had pulled back and sat back down in his chair by the time he managed to say, "I was _going_  to get kicked out. That much I know for sure. I left before they could officially expel me, so I wouldn't have it on my record." He tapped his pencil against his notebook, just so that he would have something to concentrate on other than his words.

Dean let out a breath. "Fuck, what did you do?" Castiel was just opening his mouth to reply – whether he was about to tell Dean his story or tell him to shove it, he wasn't even sure yet – when Dean amended, "What am I saying? You already told me you didn't want to talk about it. Never mind, Cas. Forget I said anything, okay?"

What was really the worst that could happen if he told Dean the truth? His hopes of a completely clean slate had been destroyed when he'd found out that his teachers already knew what had happened, and how could he be sure that Balthazar, chronic gossip that he was, hadn't already told anybody? He'd already confided in Dean about his sexuality, his father, and his difficulties with essay writing, so who was to say that one more thing would prove too much for him to handle?

But all he said in the end was, "Alright," and he shrugged. "It's really not all that interesting anyway, I promise."

_**HarvJo:** _ _u ok?_

_**Dean W.:** _ _what makes you think im not?_

_**HarvJo:** _ _u just seemed really spacey today is all_

_**Dean W.:** _ _im fine_

_**Dean W.:** _ _just kinda distracted_

_**HarvJo:** _ _by what?_

_**Dean W.:** _ _nothing_

_**HarvJo:** _ _ur not convincing me dean winchester. whats going on with u?_

_**Dean W.:** _ _NOTHING_

_**HarvJo:** _ _oooh all caps. now youve scared me off._

_**HarvJo:** _ _not_

_**HarvJo:** _ _srsly whats eatin ya?_

_**Dean W.:** _ _it's like I told u already, im just distracted_

_**HarvJo:** _ _omg u've got a crush, dont u?_

_**Dean W.:** _ _NO_

_**HarvJo:** _ _u do!_

_**HarvJo:** _ _u only get this spaced out when youre crushing on someone_

_**Dean W.:** _ _for the love of god can u please just not call it a crush? im not eight_

_**HarvJo:** _ _SO I WAS RIGHT_

_**Dean W.:** _ _dropping it_

_**HarvJo:** _ _im not_

_**Dean W.:** _ _yes u are_

_**HarvJo:** _ _u dont know me nearly as well as u think u do then_

_**HarvJo:** _ _cmon tell me_

_**HarvJo:** _ _dont make me come over there_

_**Dean W.:** _ _y dont u tell me about ur little crush on balthazar instead_

_**HarvJo:** _ _whatchu talkin bout_

_**Dean W.:** _ _u know what im talking about_

_**Dean W.:** _ _just make sure he knows that if he hurts u i'll break his face_

_**HarvJo:** _ _like I need u to break any faces for me_

_**HarvJo:** _ _in fact i'll break urs if u dont shut up about it_

_**Dean W.:** _ _:)_

_**HarvJo:** _ _damn u dean winchester._

_**Dean W.:** _ _ive got bio homework to do. say hi to ellen for me._

"Okay, seriously, Cas. What's it going to take to get you over to my place so I can introduce you to the wonders of Lord of the Rings?" Charlie asked as she grabbed her things out of her locker. Castiel leaned against the wall beside her, adjusting his backpack on his shoulders.

"I'm sure it's a good trilogy," he said. "But forgive me if I just don't feel like sitting down and watching nine and a half hours of film."

Charlie rolled her eyes. "Oh come on! We'd be watching the special extended edition. It would be more like eleven hours..."

"Point."

"Well we don't have to watch them all at once! And besides, twenty minutes in, you'll be hooked. I know it." She shut her locker and they made their way toward the doors.

It was still relatively warm, despite being late October, but Castiel could feel the cool autumn beginning to encroach in the breeze nipping at his skin. He and Balthazar had switched from walking to biking while the weather was still nice enough to manage it, and his bicycle was chained securely to the rack at the bottom of the stairs. Its nondescript black frame glinted at the end of the row. Charlie perched herself on the bottom step as he went down to get it.

"So..." Charlie said as he unchained his bike, "How's Dean?"

"Fine," he told her.

"I heard he aced his bio test."

"He did," Castiel said, with no small amount of pride. He unlocked the chain and straightened up, pulling his bike back from the rack.

Charlie raised her fist proudly. "You did good, Spock." Castiel raised an eyebrow.

"It was only logical."

She laughed, hard, standing and giving Castiel a quick hug from behind before heading across the parking lot. "That's my ride," she said, and she threw up a "Live long and prosper" hand sign. "Later, Cas." He waved and tugged his bike over onto the asphalt, about to mount it when something caught his eye – or rather, some _one_.

He was shorter than Castiel was, with dark, unkempt hair and at least a few days' worth of stubble. He looked tired, and unsure, as if he wasn't certain if he was supposed to be there at all. Castiel furrowed his brow as the man approached. "Castiel?" he asked, his voice sounding on the verge of cracking.

"Yes?" Castiel replied uncertainly, and the man smiled.

"Wow..." he breathed. For a moment, he just stared, something in his eyes that resembled awe. Castiel grew more and more confused with each passing moment, hands still on the handlebars of his bicycle in case he needed to ride away quickly for whatever reason. The man shifted, seeming to snap out of his trance after a moment. "Uh...I know this is a little strange, but I just wanted to...I don't know, talk to you? Maybe you don't want to...I'd get it if you didn't. But hey, might as well ask, right?"

Castiel regarded him carefully. There was something familiar about him, but Castiel couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was. "Would you mind telling me who you are?" he asked, and just for good measure, he said, "And I think it's fair to warn you that I'm at a skill level equivalent to having a brown belt in karate."

The man's eyes widened, and he took a step back. "Oh, god no! No, I'm not- Uh...I'm not a creep or anything. I don't want- No, no..." He swallowed, as if nervous, and Castiel didn't move. When the man looked back up at him, he took a breath, trying to smile. "I'm...Chuck. Chuck Shurley? You know, your..."

Castiel's stomach dropped. "Dad?"

Chuck scuffed his shoe against the sidewalk, staring down at it as he did. "Yeah..."

"What are you doing here?" Castiel blurted out, his knuckles white against the handlebars of his bike.

"I..." Chuck glanced up at him for a moment before looking down at the sidewalk again. "I don't know, really..."

Anger bubbled up in Castiel's gut, and he glared. "At least have the decency to look at me!" he spat. To his credit, Chuck did. "I said what the hell are you doing here?"

Chuck raised his hands in front of him, palms toward Castiel, like a gesture of surrender. "Look, I know it's crazy, Castiel. I just...I've been talking to Naomi, and-"

"Since when does she even speak to you?"

"That's what I thought," Chuck laughed nervously. "I just...wanted to know how you were doing. You and Anna. And when she told me you were at Edlund High...I mean, I went to school here. Did you know that?"

"No..." Castiel mumbled, looking anywhere but at Chuck's face. He took a breath, pressing that anger deep into his belly and letting it simmer. His knuckles were white against the handlebars of his bike, and Chuck must have noticed, because the other man shifted, shoes scuffing against the asphalt.

"I know this is kind of weird."

"It is," Castiel said. What was he supposed to say at a time like this? What words could he string together to put what he was feeling into words? He doubted they even existed. "I still don't understand...why are you here?" His voice failed him halfway through the question, until he trailed off almost to a whisper on the last word. Chuck looked pained, wracking his brain for an answer.

"Honestly?" he asked with a nervous chuckle, and Castiel nodded. "I just wanted to see you. I mean...I haven't since you were a baby, besides a few pictures Naomi sent when she was feeling generous." His smile was crooked and tentative, but warm. "You've obviously hit a growth spurt since the last one I saw, though."

"So you came all this way...just to see me? Talk to me?" The anger that has been heating in his gut began to boil. "Why put in all that effort now? Why not sixteen years ago?"

Chuck drew back a bit, as if Castiel had threatened to hit him. "I know it's...weird."

"Weird?" Castiel repeated, his voice straining with all the venom in the word. "It's more than weird. It's...it's unbelievable."

"Castiel-"

Castiel let out a curt breath and started to push his bike away, but Chuck called to him, taking a few stumbling steps forward, "Hey, wait!" Despite what his rational mind was screaming at him to do, Castiel stopped, just barely glancing in Chuck's direction. "Look, I know you're probably perfectly well off without me, but-"

"Well off without you?" Castiel scoffed. "You really think so? You really think I never needed you? I _learned_  not to need you. I needed you plenty before and you never bothered to even act like you cared."

"I know..." Chuck said calmly. "I know, and I don't expect you to forgive me for it. I just...God, look at you, Castiel..." A crooked smile found its way onto Chuck's face. "I mean...wow, you're a grown man now. It's kind of strange, honestly..."

Now it was Castiel's turn to stare down at the sidewalk. "It happens."

"I was just hoping...maybe, we could get coffee sometime. Have a talk, from one man to another?"

"Why? So I can hear all your excuses for why you left?"

"No," Chuck said. "No, I'm not making excuses. I just...I wanted to know how you were. I wanted to get to know you-"

"If you wanted that," Castiel hissed, throwing his leg over his bike, "Then you never would have left in the first place."

"Castiel, please just-"

He pushed past Chuck, pedaling as fast as he could force his legs to go. He didn't realize he was crying until he was already home.

"He just...showed up?" Balthazar asked. "Out of nowhere?"

Castiel let his shoulders slump, his fingers lacing together in his lap as his legs swung listlessly over the edge of the back porch. The soles of his shoes just barely grazed the leaves of the prickly bush beneath them. Balthazar leaned standing against the railing next to him, looking down at him with genuine concern simmering in his icy eyes. "I didn't know what to do," Castiel admitted, quietly, staring down at the grass. "I just...I was so angry, and confused..."

"Quite right to be." Balthazar scoffed and sat beside him, legs poking out from either side of one of the wooden railing supports. "What right does he have to just come up to you like that, after all these years?"

"None." Castiel left no room in his tone for hesitation. He glared at the fence at the other end of the yard. "But..."

"But?"

Castiel sighed, running his hands through his hair. "I spent so much time looking for him, Bal. I was so sure that if I just tried hard enough, I could track him down. I didn't know why. I just...I thought I needed him..." He felt as if an unbearable weight had settled on his shoulders. The effort of holding it up made his head ache. "I'd finally convinced myself that I was wrong, that I didn't need him at all...And then he just shows up out of nowhere!" He stood angrily, pacing across the porch toward the back door and stopping short of the threshold.

He heard Balthazar get up and stride toward him, but he didn't turn to face his friend. Balthazar was oddly quiet, not saying a word as he put a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "I can't tell Anna," Castiel said.

"Why not?" Balthazar asked. "He's her father too-"

"Exactly." Castiel turned to face him, Balthazar's hand slipping from his shoulder and resting limp at his side. "He left her as well as me. She missed him more than I did when we were little. I think it would do more harm than good..."

Frustration flared in his chest again, and he kicked a potted plant to give it a way out of his body. The pot fell over, spilling dirt all over the porch. Balthazar glanced down at it, but made no move to right it.

"I always thought the big sibling was supposed to be the protective one," Balthazar said, smiling fondly, and despite himself, Castiel found himself starting to mirror the expression.

"Not always," he said. He nudged the pot with one foot, dragging his toe through the dirt. The ghost of a smile that had found its way onto his face faded. "I shouldn't have to protect anyone from my own father..." He bent down and picked up the pot, righting it again, but not bothering to scoop any of the dirt back into it as he went to the steps and sat down on them. "Why did he have to come back?"

Balthazar sat beside him again, letting out a thoughtful breath. "As much of a moron as he is for leaving," he said, "he is still your father, by blood anyway. I suppose...maybe he wants to see how you've grown up."

"If he wanted that, he could have stayed to begin with," Castiel spat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Balthazar nod. "I have homework to do...Maybe it will help me get my mind off of it."

"It could do that," Balthazar said, and Castiel stood, going inside.

Castiel could hear Balthazar's music blasting from the other room – Anna's room, which he'd borrowed while she was across the Atlantic. He didn't mind it. In fact, he found it oddly soothing, and he liked having white noise in the background as he worked.

His English paper was done, and thanks to Dean, it was the best he'd ever written. He just hoped that Crowley would see it that way or, more likely, at least see it as worth a passing grade. As much as Castiel wanted to get an A just to spite his dreadful English teacher, he was perfectly content to pass competently and move on knowing that he would never have to deal with him again.

It was nearly six, and Castiel rolled back in his chair until he hit his bookshelf. His mind was elsewhere, no matter how much he tried to concentrate. He couldn't stop wondering where Chuck was now, if he was staying in some seedy motel somewhere or maybe with a friend. What if he'd moved back here to Lawrence? What if he was staying in the area for good? What if Castiel would have to see him day in and day out, or face the chance of running into him in a Starbucks or the grocery store? He couldn't say he hated Chuck, not really, but seeing him today had brought so many emotions to the surface that Castiel had thought he had buried, like someone had dragged a knife across a faded scar to reopen the wound. The thought of seeing him again made his stomach twist painfully.

He stood; he couldn't take sitting still anymore, and he paced from one end of the room to the other, running unsteady hands through his tangled hair. Balthazar had been right...what right did Chuck have to show up now, pretending to be the father Castiel had forced himself to stop missing? He backed up to the edge of the bed, sliding down past it and sitting on the floor with his back resting against the box spring. Head held in his hands, like he could somehow quell the angry maelstrom of confused thoughts by the touch alone, he forced himself to take a steadying breath, then another, and another.

He needed some air. He needed to run; he yearned to feel his lungs burning, his legs protesting, his heart pounding as he flew across the asphalt one heavy, rhythmic step at a time. Never mind that it was almost dinnertime, and that his mother would not be happy with him going out for what he hoped would be a very long jog when they were supposed to be sitting down for a meal. He stood and grabbed his running shoes from the closet, and an old T-shirt and sweatpants from his drawer.

He went downstairs and passed the living room, heading for the front door when something caught his eye, and he glanced back around. Someone was sitting on the couch in the living room, facing away from him. He couldn't be sure, but as he squinted, he could have sworn the back of that head looked familiar-

When the figure on the couch turned and met his gaze, Castiel's eyes widened. "Crowley?" he forced out.

"Fancy seeing you here," Crowley said, not getting up. "Still slaving away at that paper of yours? I'm assuming you actually have the book this time." Castiel felt himself nodding, dumbly. "Good to know you're not stupid enough to make the same mistake twice. I thought as much. Usually right about that kind of thing."

Castiel tried and failed to keep his heart from racing. What could Crowley possibly be doing here? He hadn't done anything wrong since smashing the back of his skull against Chris Alastair's nose that would warrant so much as a call home, let alone a teacher coming to visit in person, without warning. Crowley seemed to sense his unease, and it seemed endlessly amusing to him.

"Don't worry, Castiel," he told him. "Despite what you may think, I'm not here for you."

Castiel squinted, but just as he was about to ask what the hell Crowley was talking about, his mother brushed past him, "Castiel," she said, seeming almost surprised to see him standing there. "I won't be home for dinner tonight. You and Balthazar can manage, yes?"

Again, Castiel nodded, and he noticed that Crowley had stood. Naomi adjusted her earrings and grabbed her coat from the hook by the door as Crowley lingered in the entrance to the living room. Castiel edged back toward the stairs and watched, brow furrowed, as Naomi and Crowley headed out the front door.

He took the stairs two at a time to head up to his room, grabbing his phone off of his desk and sending a quick text to Charlie:

_My mother is dating Crowley. Please come shoot me now._

He got a simple, two letter reply eleven seconds later:

_EW_

Dean took a drive to clear his head.

It was a Friday evening, and he wanted more than anything to spend it anywhere but home. Sam was off seeing a movie with Jess, and Dean had about an hour left until he had to go pick them up. He wondered if Sam would be less blushy and flustered by then and started to doubt it. His little brother was absolutely head-over-heels for the girl. Honestly, Dean thought it was kind of cute.

But even if Sam was out of the house, Dad was having a bad night again. Dean had left him with a bottle in his hand on the couch watching re-runs of the Colbert Report. With any luck, he would be passed out by the time he got home with Sam.

Either way, he couldn't stand to loaf around the house when Dad was like that, even if he was keeping mercifully to himself and not getting boisterously drunk. So he'd taken the Impala out for a spin, rolled the windows down and grabbed the first cassette tape his hand had found in the glove compartment: Metallica.

As he rolled down a suburban street whose name he couldn't remember, he came up on a figure running down the sidewalk to his left. Dean squinted, slowing down. Was he going crazy or was that...

"Cas?" He pumped the brakes and slowed to a crawl, catching up with him as he pulled out his earbuds and turned around. Dean smiled; Cas' hair was mussed up from the breeze and his T-shirt was sticking to him despite the October chill. "Dude, what are you doing out here?"

"Running," Castiel said plainly, still slightly out of breath. Dean pulled the car to a stop, leaning out the window as Castiel tilted his head to one side. "What are _you_  doing here?"

"Just going for a drive," Dean told him with a shrug. "Just wanted to clear my head."

"I was trying to do the same."

"Rough night?" Dean asked, unsure why he was. Maybe it was because he could relate; he knew how a long day wore down a person's face, and he could see it in the lines creased on Castiel's brow.

Castiel shrugged, looking over his shoulder like he was worried his anxiety would catch up to him. "Just...a lot on my mind. Running helps me...process." He reached up to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "I'm thinking of joining the track team in the spring."

"Good idea," Dean said. "I get it. Driving is kind of like my running." He thought he saw Castiel smile, though it was small, and suddenly he found himself speaking up again before he realized he was doing so: "You know, I was going to ask on Monday, but since I'm here anyway, do you want to have our study date at my place this Wednesday?"

And please, oh _please,_  someone tell him that he did _not_  just say the words "study date." He winced inwardly – and outwardly, a bit – but Castiel didn't seem to notice. The more Dean thought about it, the crazier it sounded. Why the hell would he invite Castiel over to his place with everything he had to deal with there? But at the very least, his dad worked the late shift at the shop on Wednesdays, so he could have Castiel in and out before he ever got home. And besides, relaxing in his own living room would definitely be better than holing up in the library where they had to endure the librarian's constant glares.

"That would be...nice," Castiel said, smiling a bit wider.

"Awesome." Dean put his baby back into gear and started to pull away. "You can meet my little brother. You'll get along with him just fine. He's a nerd just like you."

"Like the two of us, you mean," Castiel called in response, and Dean laughed louder than he'd meant to.


	4. Chapter 4

Wednesday morning, Castiel sat at a lab bench in the back of Gabriel's biology classroom, cleaning beakers for that day's lab. Gabriel was at the front of the classroom, trying valiantly to clean permanent marker off of the white board and cursing under his breath when he failed.

"Why is it that when you put a permanent marker in a high school boy's hand, the first thing they do is draw a dick?" Gabriel mumbled, angrily scribbling over the phallic mark with a white board marker to cover it. He turned around to Castiel, who had said nothing in reply, and added, "When you're done with those, set out the microscopes. One on each bench. And make sure they're all on the lowest magnification setting, okay?"

Castiel nodded and put the last beaker aside, standing and going to the cabinet to get the microscopes. As he was setting them out on the benches, Gabriel leaned back on his desk and crossed his arms as he arched one eyebrow at him. "You're awfully quiet this morning," he said. "Something on your mind?"

"Nothing in particular," Castiel lied, not sharing that he was seriously considering cutting Crowley's class so that he wouldn't have to endure another hour of pretending that the man droning on about Bronte wasn't dating his mother.

Gabriel raised his eyebrows and hummed as he went back behind his desk and looked through the papers lying on it. "You know, your friend Dean has been getting A's on his lab reports," he said. "Pretty impressive, considering they've never been his strong suit. Not even in chemistry, and according to his teacher, he aced every test in that class last year." He sat back on his desk. "Guess your study sessions are doing some good."

"Well, he's been helping me with my English paper," Castiel said after a moment's silence. "So it goes both ways, I guess."

"I don't blame you for getting a hand with Crowley," Gabriel said, wincing sympathetically. "From what I hear, Dean's written some of the best papers he's ever seen." He squinted. "Didn't seem too happy to admit it though."

Castiel let out a small laugh. "Crowley can't stand him," he said. "Of course, he can't stand me either. Which makes it even worse that he's dating-" He cut himself off. That was _definitely_  not anywhere near appropriate to discuss with his biology teacher, of all people, but Gabriel raised his eyebrows in surprised, striding across the room and between the benches toward him.

"What's that?" he asked. Castiel concentrated on the microscopes.

"Nothing..." Gabriel leaned against a nearby bench and waited. "It...Crowley would kill me if I said anything."

Gabriel chuckled. "He's a handful, but I really doubt that. I bet it's not even news to me, honestly. I've got eyes everywhere, you know."

"He's dating my mother," Castiel blurted, and Gabriel fell silent, staring at him for a solid ten seconds before bursting into hysterical laughter.

"Oh god..." Gabriel breathed when he managed to get ahold of himself. "I'm sorry...You have my sympathies. Really." He wiped a tear from his eye. "Your mother too, I guess."

"She can handle herself," Castiel assured him.

"Oh, I'm sure." He paused a moment, taking a breath and tapping his fingers against the edge of the lab bench. "You know, for what it's worth, Crowley isn't a complete S.O.B. He's got a heart buried somewhere deep, deep, deep down there."

Castiel let a smile creep on his face as he went back to the cabinet to get a couple more microscopes. It faded by the time he got back to the desk. Gabriel tilted his head to the side and asked, "That the only thing on your mind?" Castiel tried to shrug, but it came out looking more like a vague twitch in his shoulders. "You know, you are allowed to talk to me. That Safe Space sign on my door isn't just there to look pretty, and it's not just for the GSA crew either."

Castiel pursed his lips before saying, softly, "I saw my father a few days ago."

"After a long time?"

"About sixteen years," Castiel said, and Gabriel whistled.

"Most of your life, then." Castiel nodded. "And what, he just showed up out of the blue?"

"Pretty much." He set the microscopes down a little harder than he probably should have. "He said he wanted to know how I was doing. I told him to fuck off, more or less." The profanity slipped past his lips before he realized it, and he muttered an apology, but Gabriel brushed it off.

"Well..." he said, tapping his feet against the tile floor. "I guess I can sort of relate. Had an absent father myself when I was growing up. I know it sucks. And hey, I'm not going to pretend to know all the details here, but...maybe when you're ready, it wouldn't be so bad to get to know the guy."

Castiel looked up at him, leaning on the bench and fiddling with the focus knob on the microscope nearest to him. "I don't think that would be a good idea."

Gabriel shrugged. "Maybe not. He's your dad, so it's your choice. You feel better telling him to fuck off, then tell him to fuck off."

Castiel had to admit it felt good to hear.

He was halfway through his calculus lecture when his phone buzzed, but sitting in the second row, it was pointless to try and move to check it. His teacher's bright hazel eyes – so pale they almost looked yellow – seemed to see everything that happened in the classroom, and getting caught texting in class carried punishments that Castiel preferred to avoid.

So he didn't check his phone until he was leaving the classroom to head to the cafeteria. It was a message from Charlie: " _need to talk. choir room lunch_." Worry settled heavy in his gut; he wasn't used to Charlie sending such curt texts, and with zero emoticons, no less. He bypassed the cafeteria and stopped by the vending machine near the entrance instead, buying a bag of Doritos and a Pay Day bar before heading to the choir room.

The room was empty and dim. The music classes only met in here two days a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and the chorus practiced after school. The only person in the shadow-streaked room was Charlie: she sat at the far end, on the bench by the piano. Her hair cascaded over her face in messy red tresses, and she didn't look up when he came in.

"Charlie?" he called, coming closer. Her heard her sniffle, and something lurched deep in the pit of his stomach. "What's going on? Are you-"

"I'm leaving," she blurted suddenly, and Castiel stopped dead by the piano as she looked up at him. Her eyes were swollen from crying, but she seemed to have wiped any tears from her cheeks before he'd come in.

Castiel furrowed his brow in confusion. "What do you mean you're leaving?" Charlie stood, the bench sliding across the tile.

"It's my dad," she said, her voice thick with anger and frustration as she stomped across the room, away from him. "He got a job in San Francisco. They want him there by the end of the week, so that includes me, since it's just the two of us." She paused, standing in the middle of the room and sighing heavily. "He's been looking at places out there...I knew we were probably going to move, but I didn't think it would be so soon..."

"When...when are you leaving?" Castiel managed. He felt numb.

She turned and shrugged helplessly. "Tomorrow," she said. "I spent all night packing. He wanted me to stay home and help him box up the kitchen, but..." She let out a soft laugh, and even from across the room, with the light shining through the window onto her face, Castiel could see her eyes beginning to water. "I had to come say goodbye to everyone, you know?"

Castiel barely had time to lower his gaze and let out an "Oh..." when Charlie was striding across the room to throw her arms around him, holding him tightly. After a moment, he returned the embrace, pressing his nose into the crook of her neck.

"I'm sorry..." she mumbled into his shoulder.

"Nothing you can do," Castiel said.

"But...I don't want to leave you here, Cas." She pulled away, wiping her eyes and smiling in spite of herself. "Who'll protect you from those assholes roaming the hallways when I'm gone?"

Castiel smiled as well, but it felt heavy and left him tired. "I think I can manage," he said.

"But you'll call me if you need me to beat someone up, right? Cause you know I'll come running."

"Okay."

She leaned forward and hugged him again, tighter this time. "Take care of yourself, Spock," she said, in such a small voice that Castiel couldn't believe it was hers. He nodded against her shoulder.

After a long few moments of silence, Castiel offered, "At least you'll be closer to Comic Con," and Charlie managed a laugh at that.

Castiel knocked on Dean's door and waited on the porch, glancing down at the smudged address he'd scrawled on his palm as they'd left English. He wasn't entirely quite sure if the last digit of the street number was a three or an eight, but he hoped he'd chosen the right house. It would be a pain to get back into his car and drive up and down the road until he found it.

Dean was smiling as he answered the door, and Castiel felt his anxiety lessen considerably when he was finally certain he had, by some miracle, picked the right house. "Hello, Dean," he said, and Dean wrapped a firm arm around his shoulder and tugged him inside, glancing back at his car as he did so.

"So you _can_  drive," he noted as he closed the door behind them. Castiel nodded, shrugging off his backpack and holding it by one strap. "Just put it down wherever," Dean told him, so he put it down on one of the chairs around the kitchen table.

"It's my sister's car," Castiel said. He gestured out the kitchen window at the blue Sedan that was parked at the curb outside. "I'm using it while she's in France, but I prefer to walk or bike when I can."

"Doing the whole "green" thing, huh?"

Castiel shrugged as Dean went to the fridge and opened it. "Not really. I just like it. But the distance from my house to here was a little bit of a stretch on my bike, especially with my backpack. At least until I get into better shape."

"You look like you're in perfectly good shape to me," Dean said with a small laugh.

"I stopped exercising for a time. I had a rough summer. It made it...difficult."

Dean shrugged. "Whatever you say, man. But you're not exactly going flabby, trust me. You want a soda? Or a snack or something?"

"I'm not really hungry. A soda might be nice though."

Dean plunked a Coke in front of him and sat on the opposite side of the table, facing him and squinting. "Seriously? You feeling okay, Cas? I didn't even see you at lunch, and you looked completely out of it all through English class."

"I'm-" He wanted so badly to say, "I'm fine," but the words wouldn't come, because really, he wasn't. Every time he let his mind idle, his thoughts wandered back to Charlie and how she was leaving tomorrow, so soon, and he had no idea when he'd see her again. Dean seemed to see his thoughts racing, bouncing against the insides of his skull, and he leaned forward toward him, murmuring his name with worry in his voice.

Castiel sighed. "I'm just...preoccupied. I found out today that Charlie is leaving."

"Leaving?" Dean repeated, eyebrows hiking up. "Like leaving the school?"

"Leaving the state. Her father got a new job, and they're headed to San Francisco tomorrow."

Dean's eyes went wide in disbelief. " _Tomorrow?_  Jesus Christ..." He took a sip of his soda, leaning back in his chair. "I'm sorry, Cas. I know you guys were friends and all. But hey, it's not like it's the Dark Ages, you know? You don't have to send messenger pigeons to each other to talk or anything. You can still text and Skype and all that, right?"

"I know, but it's not exactly the same."

"Yeah, it's not...all I'm saying is it could be worse."

Castiel nodded. "Yes, it could be that..." He huffed, pressing his lips together tightly and toying with the pull tab on the top of his soda can. "It's just one more thing on my plate...That on top of the fact that my mother is dating Crowley, of all people-"

Dean spat his soda magnificently across the table, getting Castiel's sleeve wet. He choked and coughed, staring at Castiel in disbelief. " _Crowley?_  Crowley and your _mom?_ "

Castiel winced; he'd blurted that out without even meaning to. But it was out now, so there was no use in denying it. "He took her out to dinner on Friday," he said distastefully, and Dean burst out laughing.

"Oh my god...Oh my god..." he repeated as he covered his mouth, eyes scrunched up and watering as he tried and failed to get himself under control. "Jesus, I'm sorry...oh my god...but...but _Crowley..._ oh my god!" He leaned forward onto the table as Dean dissolved into giggles, and Castiel felt himself smiling, even chuckling a bit as Dean sat up again and composed himself.

"That's insane..." Dean rasped. "Oh god..."

"I know."

"Fuck...what else have you got going in that crazy life of yours, Cas? Any insane ex-girlfriends track you down? Or...boyfriends or...whatever?"

"Ah...no," Castiel said, still smiling in spite of himself. He almost mentioned his father, but he held the words back. That was one thing he didn't want to relive tonight. "No, I don't think I have any exes crazy enough to track me down."

"None?" Dean asked. "Well, lucky you."

"Why? Do you?"

Dean paused a moment before saying. "No...I mean, nobody crazy, per se. I mean, I got my fair share of exes, you know? But nobody really batshit insane enough to worry about."

Castiel finally opened his soda and took a long sip. "Well...I guess we're both lucky, then."

"Maybe," Dean agreed, and he glanced at the clock. "Well...did you want to work here, or we could go upstairs if you'd rather. Or in the living room."

"Here is fine," Castiel said, leaning down to open his backpack and dig through it. As he hauled his biology lab notebook and his laptop out onto the table, his stomach growled, loudly. Dean arched an eyebrow at him. "Maybe...I might like that snack after all."

Dean grabbed a bag of chips and left it open on the table, and Castiel ate greedily, periodically sucking crumbs and salt off of his fingers to avoid smudging the pages of his book or getting grime on his laptop keys. It was nearly four-fifteen by the time they got to work, and Castiel felt himself growing more and more relaxed with every passing minute.

"My dad won't be home till about seven," Dean told him. "So we got two and a half hours at least."

"Would you...like me to leave before he gets here?" Castiel asked, somewhat hesitantly, and Dean shifted in his seat, not meeting his eyes.

"Yeah, I guess. Not that there's anything wrong with you being over here. But I just figured it'd be more convenient for you. My dad...he kind of has a tendency to interrogate people, you know? You'll be here forever if you stick around."

"I understand," Castiel said, and he was just turning the page of his notebook to go over that day's lab when someone loudly stomping down the stairs got his attention. He turned around in his seat just as a boy, about thirteen by the look of him, came into the kitchen and headed for the fridge. The boy paused, glancing up at him from under a fringe of messy chestnut hair hanging down over his forehead.

"Hi," he said, the word sounding almost like an unspoken question, and Castiel looked back over at Dean.

"Heya, Sammy," Dean greeted. "Finally emerging from your cave, huh? Needed to go foraging?"

The boy rolled his eyes and opened the fridge. "Very funny, Dean," he said, and he grabbed two string-cheese sticks from the bottom drawer before turning toward Cas again. "Are you Castiel?"

Castiel nodded, smiling and holding out a hand. "You must be Sam."

Sam unwrapped one of his snacks, holding it between his teeth as he took Castiel's hand and shook it. "D'ns told m'bout you," he mumbled around his cheese.

"Dude, don't talk with your mouth full," Dean chided. Sam bit off a piece, chewing and swallowing before repeating himself: "Dean's told me about you. You helped him pass biology."

"Well...not yet," Castiel said. "One test does not a passing grade make."

He heard Dean chuckle behind him, and Sam grinned, his nose crinkling. "Yeah, well just don't let him fail, okay? He gets pissy when he gets bad grades."

"Hey, speaking of grades, don't you have homework to do?" Dean asked. Sam groaned around another mouthful of cheese.

"I took a break to get food, jerk," the younger Winchester said.

"Yeah, well you know, for someone who was so convincing about needing to take a sick day today, you sure look like you got your appetite back."

Sam started peeling open his second string cheese stick as he headed back toward the stairs just beyond the door that led from the kitchen into the living room. "Yeah, well, maybe it was just a twenty-four hour bug or something. I can't help if I'm hungry!"

"Just go do your algebra, Sammy."

"I finished that," Sam called from the stairs. "I'm on Spanish now!"

Dean was smiling to himself as he looked over his own lab manual, and Castiel found himself doing the same. "He seems like a good kid," he said.

"Yeah, when he's not driving me up a wall," Dean said fondly. "He said he was sick this morning, but don't worry. I doubt it's contagious."

"What did he have?"

"Nothing but a case of good, old-fashioned butterflies." Dean laughed a bit to himself, knowingly. "He's pretty head-over-heels for this one girl. Apparently, she's trying to get him to try out for the school play with her or something. Poor kid's got it bad."

Castiel chuckled at that. Dean was smiling in a way that he'd only ever seen when he talked about his little brother; it was an odd combination of pride and wistfulness that Castiel didn't know how to name, but it was warm and welcoming, almost paternal. "I'm sure he'll do fine," he said.

"Yeah, tell that to him," Dean scoffed. "He's terrified he's going to blow it in some kind of catastrophic meltdown or something."

"Well...you'd be surprised what kind of screw-ups a person can come back from."

Dean looked up at him, eyebrow arched. "Yeah?" Castiel nodded. He went back to his notebook, but he could still feel Dean's eyes on him, curious and wondering, and he put down his pencil. Dean had invited him into his home, introduced him to his little brother, opened up in ways that Castiel knew had to be hard for him.

If anyone would understand, it would be Dean.

"You know..." he said, fighting the urge to look over his shoulder. "There are things about myself that I don't tell anyone. I guess I'd hoped I could wipe them from existence by pretending they didn't happen, but...I know I can't." He took a breath, his heart racing all of a sudden. "Back when I went to Saint Zachariah's...I had a lot of pressure on me. I was still looking for my father, to an extent, and the schoolwork was rigorous. On top of that, I was class president and I'd just started to come out to my classmates. It was a very conservative school, so a lot of them didn't take it well."

"Stuck up place like that, it doesn't surprise me," Dean said. He was watching Castiel intently, all attention focused on him. Part of Castiel was flattered that Dean was listening so attentively, but he squirmed under his scrutinizing gaze.

"Well..." he continued, fidgeting in his seat, "It all just sort of...got to me, I guess. I didn't realize it had until it was already too late. Suddenly, it was like a dam broke, and everything just flooded in, all at once. Every hurtful thing anyone had ever said to me, every dirty look anyone had ever given me, every pressure point in my body just collapsed all at once, and I-"

He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "You know...Cas..." Dean said, slowly, "You don't have to tell me why you left if you don't want-"

"It's fine," Castiel assured him. "I want to...There was this one teacher, Mr. Uriel. He was a religious man, thought there was something wrong with me. It was spring, and I was studying for my final exams and still trying to come to terms with the fact that I'd had to stop looking for my father and all, and...he had the nerve to tell me that maybe I could still be saved. Like I needed to repent for something." Castiel laughed bitterly. "That was it...it was the last straw. I didn't realize how close I was to the edge until he pushed me over, without even knowing he had and-"

He stopped, and Dean leaned forward and asked, "What, did you cuss him out or something? Get up on the desk and rip your shirt off?"

"No," Castiel said. "I punched him in the face."

Dean stared, mouth agape, and Castiel shrugged. "He went sprawling over his desk. Papers and folders and pencils went flying everywhere, all over the floor. And suddenly, everything just went...so silent. I thought it was a dream. I was waiting to wake up, but I never did. I didn't even realize the reality of what was happening until I was sitting in the headmaster's office, and by then..."

"You were fucked over," Dean finished, quietly.

"Yes. Completely."

He expected Dean to laugh, but he seemed too awestruck to do so. Dean merely leaned back in his chair and let out a long break. "Fucking hell, Cas," he said after a moment. "I mean...Jesus, you punched a guy's lights out for telling you to change?"

Castiel sighed. "It was crazy..."

"Hell no. I think he probably deserved it." Castiel raised his eyebrows at that.

"You think so?"

"He had it comin', man."

He didn't realize he was smiling until Dean started to as well. "Thank you..."

"What? For backing you up?"

"For...not thinking I was a freak," Castiel said. "My assaulting a teacher didn't exactly help me convince people I wasn't. My mother already thought I was insane for trying to find my father again, and so many people at school couldn't deal with my being...different. Nobody pressed charges, at least, but I knew I couldn't stay there."

"Maybe it's for the best, you know? I mean, at least Edlund High isn't exactly the most accepting place or anything, but it's gotta be less stuck up than Saint Zach's."

Castiel wasn't looking down at his notebook anymore; he had all but forgotten about it. He'd had no idea the relief of telling Dean what had happened would be so immense. He was almost floating with it. "I don't mind this school," he said. "It's different. It's very different. But different isn't so bad." He paused a moment before continuing: "I don't regret what I did."

"You don't?"

Castiel shook his head. "I wish I hadn't had to cause him pain. I wish I hadn't had to leave behind that kind of infamy. But I almost feel like...it changed something in me, and the more I think about it, the more I think that maybe it was for the better. After that, it almost seems like it's easier, somehow, not to let what people say bother me."

"Because you know you can kick their ass if you ever need to?" Dean joked, and Castiel shook his head.

"No," he said. "Because I know that what they say doesn't matter in the long run. I know it won't break me."

Dean was smiling at him almost wistfully, his gaze soft as he slowly shook his head, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing, but he was awed by it. "You're out of this world sometimes, you know that?"

Castiel arched an eyebrow. "Weird, you mean," he said.

"I never said that." Castiel chuckled, as did Dean, and suddenly the air around them seemed easier to breathe.

Dean planted his hands on the table, standing as he took a long breath. "Let's take a break," he said.

"We've barely started."

"Yeah, well I need some tunes to help me concentrate. C'mon, Cas. Let's test your music tastes, huh?"

They moved their things from the kitchen into the living room; it was a small, cozy area, with a hard wood floor and a faded round rug underneath the sofa. To the right of the television was a screen door that led out to the back porch, and Castiel glanced out at the yard as Dean went over to the stereo. The grass needed a trim, and soon the leaves would need raking.

"Do you like Metallica or are you more of a Lynyrd Skynyrd guy?" Dean asked, looking through a large stack of CD's and cassette tapes. "I also have AC/DC, and Styx too. I know I've got some Motorhead in here somewhere."

Castiel blinked at him. "Motorhead?" he asked. Dean looked downright offended.

"Oh please tell me you're not just into classical and stuff," he groaned.

"What's wrong with classical music?"

"Well, nothing! But come on, man! How do you not know Motorhead?"

"I've heard of them. I just don't know them well." Castiel went over and started looking through the stack, studying the art on the front of a Lynyrd Skynyrd CD called "God and Guns." "And just for the record, I don't just listen to classical music. In fact, I barely ever do."

"What kind of music _do_  you like?" Dean asked him.

Castiel shrugged. "I quite like Pearl Jam, and Mumford and Sons. And Train."

Dean tilted his head a bit to the side, nodding slightly. "Alright, that's not bad. Pearl Jam is okay, I guess."

"Good to know you approve." He picked up a cassette tape and showed the label to Dean, arching an eyebrow. "I didn't realize you were a fan of Air Supply." Dean turned the slightest bit pink and nabbed the tape out of his hand.

"I'm not," he said. "That must've just...fallen in there or something." He cleared his throat as he picked a CD and opened the tray in the stereo to put it in. "Anyway, I won't be able to sleep easy until you've been introduced to mister Kilmister and the gang."

Dean skipped through a few songs before settling on one, and he began to grin as he stood. At first, Castiel couldn't hear anything, but then the rough sound of a guitar reached his ears, followed by the bone-rattling beat of drums. Another powerful guitar riff came in just as Dean reached down and took his hand, pulling him up.

Dean started to nod his head energetically to the beat as the vocals came in, growling and hardy: " _I'm living on an endless road, around the world for rock and roll, sometimes it feels so tough,_   _but still I ain't had enough._ " Castiel began to smile as he watched Dean mouth along with the lyrics.

The heady sound of the guitar was addictive, and he found himself swaying to the heavy beat just as Dean was. "So you do like Motorhead," Dean said, smirking, and Castiel could barely hear him over the music. He moved closer.

"It's...interesting," he said, even as the singer's gravelly, harsh voice sent shivers up his spine.

"Aw, more than that! This isn't even their best song!"

He hadn't realized how close they were until now, and when Castiel looked up again, he could see the crinkles around Dean's eyes as Dean threw his head back, eyes squeezed shut as he belted out the chorus: " _Hellraiser! In the thunder and heat, Hellraiser! Rock you back in your seat, Hellraiser! And I'll make it come true, Hellraiser! I'll put a spell on you!_ " Castiel mouthed along with the words as well, his smile growing.

By the end of the song, they were breathless and red in the face, and Dean had a wide grin on his face that Castiel knew he was mirroring himself. They laughed as they collapsed back on the couch, and it occurred to Castiel that he didn't know when the last time was that he'd laughed that hard. He felt lighter, more at ease with himself. Maybe it was the fact that he'd finally gotten his secret off of his chest, or maybe the music had given him a mini endorphin rush. Either way, the thoughts of Charlie leaving and his father showing up and his mother dating his English teacher suddenly didn't feel like they were weighing him down as they had when he'd pulled up to the curb outside Dean's house; maybe it was temporary, but for now, he felt free.

"So," Dean said, still trying to catch his breath. "What do you think?"

"I like it," Castiel replied, before he'd even had the chance to give it a second thought. And he had. It was rough and gritty and harsh, and he'd loved every note. Dean got up, going over to the stereo and taking the CD out. He put it back in its case and handed it to Castiel.

"You can borrow it," he said. "Just promise you'll get it back to me. That's a kickass album, alright?"

Castiel looked down at it, nodding. "I will," he said. "Thank you."

They sat on the couch in silence, not touching their books. "Hey Cas?" Dean finally said, and if Castiel didn't know better, he would have said he sounded almost nervous. "If I tell you something, would you promise not to tell another person? Ever?"

"Of course," Castiel said, but Dean didn't seem entirely convinced. He stared at Castiel intently, frowning now, but not in anger. It made him look much older.

"I mean it. Not a single person. Not Balthazar, or Charlie, or Gabriel, or anybody."

"Dean, if you give me a secret, I'll keep it."

Dean nodded to himself, taking a breath as he looked down at the carpet. "I'm gonna hold you to that," he said. He fell silent again, and Castiel scooted a bit closer to him.

"What is it, Dean?" he asked.

"Do you remember that first day we met?" Dean said, folding his hands in his lap. "You knocked me over and I snapped at you?"

"I remember."

"Well...something had happened, the day before...I guess you could call it a breakup."

"Oh," Castiel said, brow furrowing. If Dean thought that this was some shameful secret that could ruin him if it got out, he didn't understand why. "Dean, you don't have to explain why you were in a bad mood that day. I was never angry for-"

"His name was Benny," Dean blurted, and Castiel stopped speaking mid-sentence. He blinked, realization hitting him like a cold breeze as Dean looked back down at the carpet.

"Oh," he said again. Dean had set his jaw tightly, fingers tensing and relaxing against his knees, and he couldn't seem to decide what he should look at, his eyes darting from the stereo to the window to his own hands and back again. Never once did he meet Castiel's gaze. "Dean...if you think I'm going to judge you for something like that, you don't know me nearly as well as I thought."

He'd hoped Dean would crack a smile at that, at least, but he was disappointed. "Never told anybody," Dean said, as if he hadn't heard what Castiel had said at all. "Not even Sam. Especially not Dad." He let out a bitter laugh at that, humorless and cold. "Not Jo, not Chris...nobody. He was... _is_  in college. As far as anyone knew, we were friends. That was it. But Dad...Dad was starting to figure things out, or at least I thought he was. I couldn't take the chance, Cas. I just couldn't...I had to..."

He trailed off, biting his lip and thumping his balled up fists against his knees before taking a breath and straightening up. "Anyway, now you know..."

Slowly, Castiel reached out, placing a careful hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean flinched, just barely, looking over at him before Castiel had a chance to pull away. He forced a smile and said, "I kinda hoped it would feel better to say it..."

"Doesn't it?" Castiel asked.

Dean's smile faltered, though it hadn't been a strong one to begin with. "I don't know, really. It doesn't feel much different at all."

"Well...for what it's worth..." Castiel pulled his hand back into his own lap, smiling himself to fill the gap that had been left by Dean's. "You certainly don't look any different to me."

"Thanks, Cas," Dean said, softly, and Castiel could have sworn he saw the corners of his mouth twitch just slightly. Any semblance of a smile faded in an instant when they heard the front door being opened. Dean jumped up faster than Castiel had ever seen him do, cursing under his breath.

"Dean?" Castiel asked as he stood too. When Dean turned toward him again, there was fear in his eyes.

"It's my dad," he said in a hushed, hurried tone. "He's back early...That's not good. Shit, that's never good."

"Should I leave?" Dean was already grabbing Castiel's things and handing them to him. Castiel was just pulling his backpack onto his shoulders when a man lumbered through the door and caught his gaze.

He was an imposing figure, and though he only stood a few inches taller than Castiel, he seemed to tower over him and Dean both. His eyes were tired, almost glazed over as he looked between the two of them, frowning deeply. Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel saw Dean straighten, like a soldier standing at attention. "Who's this?" he said, his voice deep and gravely.

Dean opened his mouth, but Castiel stepped forward, hand outstretched. He thought he noticed Dean reaching forward, as if to try and grab him and pull him back. "My name is Castiel," he said, lowering his hand when the elder Winchester didn't take it. "I was just...I'm Dean's friend. I was helping him-"

"That your car parked out front of my house?" Dean's father asked, his words just barely slurred, and Castiel nodded.

Dean stepped forward, pushing Castiel toward the door. "Cas was just leaving, Dad," he said stiffly.

As Castiel opened the door, he turned to Dean, worry settling in his gut, and asked, "Dean, are you-"

"Go, Cas," Dean muttered. "Just go."

"I'm-"

"I'm fine, Cas."

It was all he would say about the matter, and the next thing Castiel knew, the door was being shut in his face. He could hear Dean's father's voice from inside as he walked toward his car, and Dean's raised in response just moments later. His heart pounded in his chest, and his stomach clenched unpleasantly as he got in his car and started the engine, unable to bear the sound of what seemed like the beginnings of a screaming match fading behind him as he drove away.


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel couldn't for the life of him work out just what it was that he wanted to say when Dean arrived. Never the less, he waited by Dean's locker, leaning against the metal with his backpack slung over one shoulder. It was nearly time for first period to start, and Castiel was starting to think that Dean wasn't going to be there at all, worry settling in his gut at the thought, but finally, just five minutes before the start of class, Dean rounded the corner, his hands shoved into the pockets of a heavy leather jacket that was far too big for him.

When he saw Castiel, what looked like shame flashed across his face before he stared down at the floor again. He barely acknowledged Castiel's presence when he reached his locker and started to turn the lock to open it. "What are you hanging around here for?" he asked, eyes locked on his fingers turning the dial.

"I just wanted to be sure I didn't make things...worse," Castiel said. Dean yanked his locker open and dumped his statistics textbook into his backpack.

"What do you mean?" he asked in monotone, not even looking up.

Castiel took a breath, searching for the right words. "Last night...your father-"

Dean slammed his locker shut and slung his backpack over one shoulder, wincing slightly as he brought his other arm through the strap. "Forget about it." He turned from Castiel and headed down the hall, toward the stairs. Castiel followed.

"I just want to make sure you're-"

"What?" Dean snapped, whirling around and glaring, though the expression seemed more tired than malicious. "That I'm okay? Yeah, sure. I'm totally okay. Happy?"

Castiel saw no point in lying, so he merely replied, "No. Not really."

Dean laughed, bitterly. "Fuckin' A," he said, and he sighed, rubbing his temples with calloused fingers. "Look, Cas...I'm done, okay?"

"With what?"

"With the study sessions."

Castiel felt something hot flare up deep in the pit of his stomach, a mixture of fear and anger that he couldn't name. "Why?"

"Well, your paper is done, right? You don't need my help. And I'll get through bio on my own."

"Dean," Castiel said, softly, taking a step toward him. "Is this about your father? Is he against it for some reason? You don't have to take orders from him. He doesn't even have to know if-"

"No! I'm done sneaking around. I had enough of that with-" He trailed off, bringing his hand to his mouth and letting his thumb press against the crease of his lips. "Forget it, okay? Just...forget it."

He turned, the bell for first period ringing as Castiel watched him go. There was more to be said, more to get out, and Castiel just couldn't bring himself to let it all drop. He took the stairs two at a time to catch up to Dean, stepping in front of him. "Talk to me," he commanded.

"Cas..." Dean sighed, suddenly sounding exhausted. "Just..."

"No, Dean. Talk to me."

Dean stood motionless in the stairwell, looking all around for anyone who might be passing by. The hallway was empty now; first period had already started. "What the fuck do you want to talk about, Cas?" Dean asked, his tone one of resignation. It made Castiel's chest ache.

He took a few steps toward Dean, up one or two stairs. "I know that what happened...it wasn't something you wanted me to see," he said carefully. "I know that, and I'm sorry, Dean. But what does it matter to him if we study together? What difference does it make?"

"You don't understand, Cas," Dean groaned. "Look, when..." He lowered his voice to nearly a whisper, eyes darting back and forth for any sign of a third party who might overhear. "When I was still...hanging out with Benny, he thought...He almost figured it out...I couldn't take the chance, Cas. I just couldn't. I convinced him nothing was going on, but after that..." There was such heaviness in his voice and on his face that Castiel worried Dean might collapse under the weight of it. "I can't risk it."

"So you're not allowed to have friends?" Castiel asked, trying valiantly to keep any measure of bitterness out of his tone.

Dean let out a breath, staring down at the tiles beneath their feet before turning, heading up the stairs again. "I'm done, Cas," he said. "I'm not talking about this anymore."

He pushed past him, but Castiel stepped up after him once more, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him back. Dean turned, yanking his arm away and shoving Castiel back, and Castiel stumbled, grabbing onto the railing to keep from falling.

"Christ, why do you even care so much anyway?" Dean spat. "Why won't you just let me go?"

"Because you can't live your whole life afraid of your father finding out the truth," Castiel replied. "You're practically a grown man, Dean. You can't be afraid of him forever!"

"Yes, I can!" Dean's words echoed in the empty stairwell, and when they finally faded away, they left a a silence behind so heavy that Castiel's shoulders rounded with the effort of holding himself up under its weight. Dean sighed, ran his hand through his hair, and gripped the straps of his backpack so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

He didn't turn to leave again, though. Not just yet. Castiel took the opportunity, keeping his voice soft and careful as he said, "Dean...it took me years to stop being afraid of who I really was. I tried to hide it. I tried to change it. I tried to run from it. But in the end, I couldn't, and I only realized when I finally accepted it that there was nothing to be afraid of."

Dean let out a bitter laugh. "You're like a damn fortune cookie, you know that?" he said.

"It's the truth, Dean."

"Yeah, for you maybe," Dean sighed.

Castiel took another step toward him, reaching out and gently taking his hand. Dean's eyes darted up the stairs again, then down them, and Castiel could see his pulse racing in his neck. His own was doing the same. But they were still alone, and Castiel didn't let go, but his hold was light. Dean could pull away any time he wanted.

He didn't.

"What are you doing?" he asked, and Castiel let out a careful breath.

"I just don't want you to be scared anymore."

Dean chewed on his lip, fingers flexing under Castiel's, as if he two parts of him were fighting over whether or not to pull away. Still, he didn't move. "What, you're trying to save me?"

"You don't need saving, Dean," Castiel told him, and finally, Dean tugged his hand away, his fingers flexing into a tight fist.

"Not worth it anyway," he spat, turning his back once again.

The words stung Castiel deep inside, and he ached down to his bones as he watched Dean trudge up the stairs, like a soldier headed for the battlefield. He wanted to yell; he wanted to kick and scream and grab Dean by the shoulders and shake him until he saw the truth, but he didn't do that. He couldn't. He stayed perfectly still as he called, "You're wrong."

Dean paused, slowly turning his head to look at Castiel over one rounded shoulder. "What?" he asked, tiredly.

"You are worth it," Castiel said, and it felt as though the words were leaving his mouth without him forming them himself. "You're worth it to me." His heart pounded against his ribs as he spoke, and Dean's brow furrowed in confusion before realization flashed across his features.

He descended the stairs, stepping down onto the landing and slouching until he looked so much smaller than Castiel had ever seen him. "Cas, don't fucking do this..."

"Do what?"

"Don't...don't fucking tell me you have...what, feelings for me?" He spat the word out like it tasted foul on his tongue, and Castiel straightened up where Dean had hunched over.

There was no point in lying, so he merely said, "Yes."

Dean's face contorted in what seemed like agony, and he reached up to run his fingers through his hair, turning from Cas and pounding an angry fist against the wall. "Fuck..." he grunted, hand thumping and thumping against the hard surface. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck..._ "

This certainly wasn't how Castiel had envisioned this conversation going, but the truth was out now. There was no going back. He stepped toward him, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. "Dean..." he breathed, trying to sound comforting, but Dean whirled around and shoved his way past him, going down the stairs. "Where are you going?" Castiel called.

"Home," Dean replied. "I feel like shit. I think I've got the flu."

Castiel tried to follow, but Dean didn't turn to face him again, heading straight out the doors. Castiel stopped short, watching him go. He could follow, could chase him down in the parking lot and insist on talking until this was resolved, but he didn't see the point. Dean wouldn't speak to him like this; that much was clear.

He felt unnaturally heavy as he headed away from the doors, back toward the stairs.

The day seemed to drag on and on until it just felt like a blur or a dream. His mind settled into a strange sort of autopilot, his legs moving him from class to class and his hand taking notes while his thoughts buzzed and bounced around inside his skull. He sat by the window at lunch, with Balthazar, barely talking as he slowly sipped at his tomato soup.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Balthazar asked, and Castiel didn't miss the note of concern in his voice. "Cassie?"

"Nothing happened," Castiel lied, and he continued to eat his soup. Balthazar leaned across the table, eyebrows knitting together in worry.

"Clearly something happened. You look like you're barely even here right now, like you're some kind of zombie or something."

"You've been watching too much Walking Dead," Castiel said plainly, and Balthazar scoffed, but didn't back off.

He did lower the volume of his voice when he asked, "Is it about your dad? Did he show up again?"

"No," Castiel said.

"Well is it Charlie? You said she left today, didn't you? I wouldn't blame you if you were feeling down about her leaving."

"No," he repeated.

Balthazar paused a moment before continuing: "Oh, Cassie...is it that Dean character? He wasn't in statistics class this morning. I thought he was just skipping again or maybe fell asleep in the gym. You seemed out of sorts when you came back from his house last night, you know. I didn't want to say anything because I know you don't like people prying, but dammit, Cassie, did something happen? Did you have a lovers' quarrel?"

Castiel got up from the table with an angry huff, soup sloshing out of his bowl and onto the floor. "I'm done talking about it," he said.

"Talking?" Balthazar pressed, getting up and trying to follow him, but Castiel glared over his shoulder, and Balthazar stopped. "Castiel, you've barely spoken at all. You know you can tell me if something is bothering you-"

"Something is bothering me," Castiel answered honestly. "And I'm done talking about it." He turned and stomped out of the cafeteria, ignoring the eyes that he felt burning into his back as he went.

He didn't see Balthazar for the rest of the day, and he didn't bother waiting around for him after school either. The air had turned cold, clouds gathering overhead as the wind nipped at his cheeks. His backpack was heavy, but he barely noticed its weight dragging his posture into a slouch as he went to his bike.

"Well lookie, lookie here," a rough voice drawled from behind him, and Castiel closed his eyes and let out a sigh when he recognized it. Slowly, he turned, lips pressed in a hard line as he glared at Christopher Alastair, alone this time, leaning against the railing by the front stairs and grinning wide enough to show off his crooked teeth.

Castiel said nothing as he turned back toward his bike, but he could hear him sidling up behind him, breath hissing past his chapped lips. "You know, I never did pay you back for that bloody gift you gave me for welcoming you to the school."

Finally, he turned to face him, and Alastair was already just inches away, staring him down. "And I'd thought you'd learned that I wasn't worth your time," Castiel said. "I hope I didn't overestimate your intelligence."

Alastair started to lunge, but stopped at the last moment, the gesture nothing more than a fake-out. Castiel blinked, but it was the only hint of a flinch he gave. Alastair grinned at him. "Oh, I've heard plenty about you, you pretty little freak. See, when you start to hang around Dean, I start to get interested. Especially when he told me he'd kick my ass if I tried to mess with you again."

Castiel's brows shot up in confusion. He'd never heard that Dean had confronted Alastair about what had happened back in September. Alastair smirked at Castiel's apparent surprise. "Not that he could ever take me," he continued, shrugging. "Still, it doesn't stop me from wondering what's got him so worked up about the new transfer."

A crowd was starting to form around them, and out of it, Jo came stumbling toward them, glaring. "Cut it out, Chris!" she snapped. "Just fucking drop it!"

"Why would I drop it?" Alastair hissed. "The freak is interesting."

"I swear to God, even if Dean isn't here, I'll kick your slimy ass from here to Sioux Falls if you don't back off!"

Alastair rolled his eyes. "What are you gonna do, go running to mommy?"

Jo lunged, cocking her arm back to swing at him; Alastair was quick, but she was quicker, and her knuckles caught him on the chin; it was a glancing blow, but it made Alastair wobble backwards and grunt in pain. The crowd gasped, a few people cheering to egg them on, and Alastair glared at her, hard, shoving her in the stomach and sending her staggering backward until she lost her balance and fell back onto the pavement.

"Alastair, stop this," Castiel barked, anger flaring in his gut at the sight of blood running down Jo's arm. She was getting on her feet again in seconds, glaring hot daggers at Alastair and pressing a palm against the scrape on her elbow. Balthazar pushed through the crowd next, taking her arm and mouthing something that looked like "Not worth it."

Alastair put on a sickeningly faux innocent face as he said, "Well, she came at me first."

"What the hell do you want from me?"

Castiel curled his fingers into fists as Alastair took a step toward him, so close now that he could smell his rank breath. He watched his face, searching for any twitch, any spark in his eye that might give him away. "Always thought freaks were interesting," Alastair hissed. "Why do you think I spent all that time with Winchester? He's a freak just like you are. Guess that's why you got so close to him, wasn't it? Tell me, harboring a little crush on old Dean?"

He forced his expression to remain a neutral one, but Alastair smirked anyway. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jo fidgeting, fighting with herself to approach again give him another blow to the face, or maybe a solid punch in the gut. But she remained still, as did Balthazar, though he looked on with worry etched all over his features.

"Leave Dean out of this," Castiel said icily. He kept his eyes locked on Alastair, his core muscles tight, keeping him balanced and firm, ready to spring.

"Guess that answers that question," Alastair replied with a shrug. Castiel didn't move, but fixed Alastair with the most venomous glare he could manage.

"You listen to me," he growled, "Dean is a better friend than you ever deserved. Why he feels the need to keep spending time with you, I'll never know. But this isn't about him. This is about you and me. So tell me, just what is it that you find so reprehensible about me?"

Alastair's smirk never lessened, and Castiel remained firm. "I owe you a bloody nose to match the one you gave me," he said. "And maybe I'll add a few extra bruises as a parting gift."

Castiel found himself smiling, cold and harsh, and he tilted his head to one side. "Will you?" he asked, his voice sounding nothing like his own. "Boy?"

To his great satisfaction, he did see Alastair's smile falter, if only slightly at that. It was the tiniest twitch of his jaw muscles that gave him away before his fist was flying, and though Castiel brought an arm up to block the blow, Alastair was frighteningly quick, and the blow connected with the side of Castiel's jaw. Castiel reeled, staggering backward, hearing the crowd yell and Jo screaming, "You sick son of a bitch!" His vision seemed to blur as he regained his balance, and before he even had time to realize he'd done so, he'd loosed his own blow. It connected solidly with Alastair's cheek bone, and he grunted in pain, staggering back and hunching over. The crowd's vocalizations rose to a deafening crescendo as Castiel brought his elbow down on Alastair's shoulder, his knee coming up next to slam into his gut and send him down onto his onto the pavement.

Alastair coughed, glaring up at Castiel as he tried to stand, but failed. "Always knew...there was a reason...Dean liked you so much..." he gasped, blood flowing from his lip. His smile was grotesque and stained red. "You're fiery."

Castiel's fists remained clenched under his chin and he loosed a hard kick that caught Alastair in the side of the head. Alastair crumpled down onto the ground. It was over; anyone could see, and Castiel's anger bubbled heartily in his gut as he stared down at Alastair in disdain, taking hard, hissing breaths through his nose as his knuckles throbbed and his arms shook with the adrenaline still pumping through him.

He realized just how silent it was just as the pain in his cheek started to creep into his consciousness, and he looked around. The crowd was staring at him, wide-eyed and quiet, and suddenly he registered the looks of horror on Balthazar's and Jo's faces, and Alastair's pained groans from where he was curled up at his feet.

"Back, get back!" a voice barked as the crowd parted. He looked forward again just in time for Crowley to insert himself firmly between him and Alastair. "What the bloody hell is wrong with you, Novak?" he spat. "Have you completely lost your mind?"

Castiel watched dumbly as Crowley went to Alastair, hoisting him up and shoving him toward a pair of stunned onlookers. "Take him to the nurse, the two of you. And the rest of you, get out of here! You have places to be, work to do. Don't just stand there. _Move!_ "

He felt numb as he watched the crowd disperse, Balthazar and Jo lingering by the stairs and looking on, completely silent, and as Crowley approached him, Castiel forced himself to look him in the eye. "I should have taken those warnings about you to heart, Castiel," Crowley growled. "You want to explain to me what you think gives you the right to attack another student in the bloody school parking lot?"

"He attacked me," Castiel said, the words coming almost on their own. He didn't even feel like he was speaking them himself.

Crowley's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, well that makes it alright then. You're damn lucky Principal Milton is out today, Castiel. But mark me, the moment he comes back, he'll be hearing about this. For now, though, I think Vice Principal Raphael would be very interested to hear your side of things."

Before Castiel knew it, Jo was running down the steps again, stopping between him and Crowley. "He's telling the truth!" she said adamantly. "Chris came at him first. He punched him right in the face!"

"Something I'm sure he'll bring up himself." Crowley turned to Castiel again. "Won't you?"

Castiel followed Crowley inside, not saying a word to Balthazar or Jo, or meeting their eyes. His cheek ached, as did his knuckles, and he dragged his feet as he walked down the hall to the office. He didn't send more than a cursory glance toward the nurse's office when they passed it; the door was closed, but he couldn't help but wonder what was happening inside. A vague sense of horror settled deep in his gut as he wondered whether he'd left Alastair with far more injuries than he'd ever intended. He told himself again and again that he deserved whatever he'd gotten, but no matter how hard he tried to convince himself of that, the guilt would not subside.

He sat in room after room, in chair after chair, feeling as though his body had been flooded with Novocaine. Vice Principal Raphael was a tall, imposing woman, ebony-skinned, dark-haired and oozing authority. Castiel nodded when he had to nod, answered her questions, told her over and over again his view of what had happened. She didn't seem to express any more sympathy for Chris than she did for him – namely, none – but she did stand before him with her arms crossed and her lips pressed tight together when he'd said, honestly, that he didn't regret hitting him back.

"He assaulted me," he said, "And Jo too. In a perfect world, I would have preferred to just walk away, but I couldn't."

He was given three days of in-school suspension. He told Balthazar and Jo to go ahead without him and walked his bike home.

Balthazar had been swiveling back and forth in the desk chair for almost five solid minutes when Castiel finally said, "You know, I think you use that chair more than I do."

"Nonsense, Cassie," Balthazar said, stopping his swiveling and leaning forward, toward him. "You know, you really should get out of this house. It might do you some good after being in solitary confinement all day."

"It's not solitary confinement," Castiel said, staring at the ceiling and tossing a stress ball upwards, catching it again in his palm. "It's in-school suspension. And I'll only be in for two more days, after the weekend. My being grounded, though...I have no idea when that will end."

"Just how long of a sentence did your mother give you?"

"Indefinite." Balthazar winced. "I don't have much going on after school anyway, so it's not like it matters much."

"No more study sessions?" Balthazar asked. Castiel replied with nothing more than a curt, "No."

His friend sighed, standing up and sitting on the edge of the bed. Castiel scooted over to accommodate him a bit, but didn't make eye contact. He threw the ball again, tossing and catching it rhythmically until Balthazar snatched it mid-air, ignoring Castiel's annoyed whine. "You know I'm not going to let you get off without talking to me about what happened, right?"

Castiel pushed himself up on his elbows just as Balthazar cocked an eyebrow. "What?"

"You know what! That fight, Castiel! I've never seen you snap like that. What did it? Was it what he said about Dean, or were you just sick of putting up with him?" Balthazar chuckled, but there was almost no humor in it. "Because I swear, Cassie, nobody's going to want to mess with you after that."

"I don't know..." Castiel relented, falling back against the bed again. "I just...I don't...know..."

After a moment's silence, Balthazar said, "You know, I think what you need, Cassie, is to get out of here. Go somewhere. Do something that doesn't involve wallowing."

"I'm not wallowing," Castiel said with a roll of his eyes. "And do you even understand what being grounded means?"

"It means you'll be in trouble if you get caught." Castiel shoved him, amicably. "I mean it, Cas! Sitting here stewing over what happened between you and Dean or you and that grand dick, Alastair won't do you any good. It happened. It's done. Whatever will come of it will come, but you can't do anything to change it."

Slowly, Castiel sighed, and closing his eyes, he managed to say, "I told Dean."

"Told him, what?" Castiel merely gave him a look, one eyebrow slightly raised, and realization washed over Balthazar's face a moment later. "Oh...And I suppose...he didn't take it well?" Despondently, Castiel shook his head. "Ah, well...he'll come around one of these days."

"It's not that simple," Castiel told him. "It wasn't like I was planning on telling him that I had feelings for him. But I couldn't lie to him...It just came out, and the next thing I knew, he was running away and-"

"He _ran away?_ " Balthazar scoffed, and Castiel nodded again. Balthazar's arm wrapped around his shoulders, his palm patting fondly against his arm. "Oh, Cassie...just give him some time. He can't run from this forever, you know, and you shouldn't dwell on it." He stood, Castiel watching as he leaned against the back of the swivel chair again. "My advice still stands...you need to get out of the house. This just proves that leaving you to dwell on your own thoughts would be dangerous."

"And where would you propose we go, exactly?" Castiel asked, a bit tiredly. He knew that Balthazar was right, to a degree, at least. Sitting on his ass doing nothing all weekend would hardly be good for him, and having nobody but his own thoughts for company would likely just give him a migraine. But the thought of getting in even more trouble wasn't appealing, and knowing Balthazar, no matter how good his intentions, trouble was bound to be a hazard for whatever he had in mind.

Balthazar sat beside him again, his hands on Castiel's arms. "There's a party tomorrow night, at Meg's house."

"Meg?"

"She's in my ancient history class. Dark hair, a bit creepy, but not without her charms, I suppose. Anyway, Cassie, it's sure to be just what you need. Come with me. Unwind a bit. At least for a little while."

"Balthazar..."

" _Cas,_ " he mimicked, grinning. "Look, it's just a few blocks away. If you're miserable, tell me, and we can come home, right that moment. I promise."

Castiel gently pushed Balthazar's hands off of his arms, sighing. "You're forgetting something. My mother? Just how do you plan on convincing her that this would be so good for me?" At that, Balthazar smirked and stood up again, striding across the room with his hands clasped behind his back.

"I may have just happened to overhear a little conversation she had over the phone with one creepy, _grincheux_  English teacher earlier. They have another date for tomorrow night." Castiel grimaced at that, which only seemed to entertain Balthazar more. "I'll get you back here before she even comes home."

Castiel furrowed his brow, wishing that it wasn't as tempting an offer as it was. Balthazar knelt in front of him, sing-songing, "You're running out of excuses, Cassie..."

With a sigh and a slight smile, Castiel said, "What the hell?" and Balthazar smiled wider than ever before.

Balthazar had been right about Naomi's date with Crowley; mere minutes after she'd left, he tugged Castiel out the door and started down the street toward Meg's house. "Fresh air," Balthazar sighed with a smile, "Isn't it wonderful?"

"It's nice," Castiel said, pulling his hand back and following Balthazar at his own pace. It was cool out, and Castiel wrapped his arms around himself; he'd dug the tan trench coat out of the back of the hall closet, just to have something to wear over his button-up shirt since Balthazar had claimed his hoodies were out of the question, and it was far too big for him, but it kept him warm enough. He fiddled with the blue tie that Balthazar had knotted around his neck. He felt ridiculous in it, but Balthazar had insisted it made him look classy. Though, Castiel noticed, he hadn't worn one himself; Balthazar's shirt was so low-cut that the sparse hairs on his chest poked out over the hem, and the black coat he'd shrugged on over it seemed at least a size too small.

"Come on, Cassie," Balthazar crooned just as the house came into view, "Embrace a little rebellion for tonight, hm?"

Castiel had never really thought of himself as a rebel, but maybe he could allow himself to change that, if just for one night.

The party was crowded and loud, and overall not something that Castiel really tended to enjoy. Twenty minutes after arriving, he couldn't say that he was particularly having much fun, but at least it was keeping his mind off of other, less pleasant things. He welcomed the noise.

Balthazar had immediately gone to the kitchen upon arriving and poured Castiel a beer, then made a rum and Coke for himself after groaning about the fact that he couldn't find any champagne. Castiel barely sipped his drink; beer wasn't a taste he'd really embraced as of yet, to be honest. And as more and more people arrived, smiling and laughing and greeting each other, he worried that he'd wind up spilling it on someone.

He leaned against the wall in the living room, finally out of the way of bumping shoulders and swaying hips, and he watched. That, he could enjoy, at least; he did like to watch people. Aimlessly, his eye wandered from a group laughing loudly on the couch, to the two guys standing by the stereo and fighting over which CD to play, to crowd moving and bobbing to the music that was already pounding through the house. Castiel couldn't place the tune, but he found himself wondering if he'd be able to find any Motorhead in the collection if he looked hard enough.

"And here I thought you weren't up for parole, Clarence," a voice crooned from behind him, and he turned.

She was noticeably shorter than he was, dark hair spilling over her shoulders and a smirk on her face. Her fingers were wrapped deftly around a glass that contained some unnaturally green liquid. She brought it to her lips and sipped. "It's Castiel, actually," he said, and she rolled her eyes.

"Castiel...Clarence...honestly, I think Castiel sounds a little too...celestial for you. After all, we both know you're no angel." She smiled, and it had an almost icy quality to it: not unkind, but it made Castiel shiver slightly all the same. Her sleek black nails glinted in the light as she extended one hand. "Good to see you got out of lockdown, and just for my party, too. I'm flattered."

"You're Meg," Castiel said as he shook her hand, returning his own to his side quickly after he did. She grinned at him again.

"Smart, too." She sipped her green drink. "Heard about you putting Alastair in his place last week. Gotta admit I'm impressed. Never figured you as the brawling type."

Castiel pursed his lips, looking away. "Who else knows?" he asked.

"Most of the school, probably," she chuckled, and she patted his cheek. Her skin was cold against his, and felt even more so on his face than it had against his palm. "Don't look so down, Clarence. For what it's worth, I think Chris Alastair had it coming. Everyone knew that. Even he did. It was just a matter of time until someone stopped taking his shit and hit back. And so hard, too." She smirked from behind her glass. Castiel gripped his own cup more tightly, the room temperature beer suddenly seeming more tempting as a way to stop his stomach from clenching into a painful knot, despite its less than pleasant taste.

Meg stood on her toes, peeping at the contents of Castiel's plastic cup, and she arched an eyebrow at him. "You really drinking that keg shit?"

"It was there," Castiel said with a shrug, and he took a long sip, forcing himself to swallow. Meg chuckled and grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the kitchen.

"Fuck that stuff, Clarence," she said. "I'll show you how to take a shot of tequila like a pro."

After three shots, with the taste of lime still sour on his tongue, Castiel leaned down against the kitchen island, slouching on the stool. Meg smirked at him and slammed her glass down on the counter. "Doing okay there, Clarence?" she asked.

Castiel blinked, his head swimming. "I think I'm starting to feel something." Meg chuckled at him, and when Castiel looked back up at her, he noticed she was staring over his shoulder, her eyebrows hiked him and her amused smile growing.

"Well what do you know?" she mused. "Dean fucking Winchester at my party."

Castiel's stomach lurched at that, and it had nothing to do with the tequila. He turned, craning his neck to look over his shoulder, and he saw him. Sure enough, Dean was making his way slowly through the living room, a frown carving deep lines in his brow. He was facing away from them, but Castiel turned quickly back to Meg; his expression must have been more shocked than he realized, because Meg looked endlessly amused.

"I thought you'd be jumping up to hug the guy or something," she quipped, grabbing another slice of lime from the paper towel between them. "Aren't you guys close as two peas in a fuckin' pod?"

"We're friends," Castiel said sadly. "But I think...he's unhappy with me right now."

"Lover's spat?" Meg asked, and Castiel shook his head. He didn't care what anyone thought about him, really, but Dean...after what Dean had told him, Castiel just didn't feel right risking Dean's reputation on his own account.

"Just a...minor falling out," he said to his shot glass, and Meg shrugged.

"Well," she sighed, refilling her glass, "It was bound to happen anyway. Hate to break it to you, Clarence, but Winchester isn't exactly the most stable bonehead at Edlund High." She offered the bottle of tequila to him, but he held up his hand to turn it down; his mind felt foggy already, and he didn't like it. "Can hardly blame him, though. I mean, what happened to his mom would screw anyone up."

Castiel furrowed his brow at that; Dean had shared enough about his father and his brother, but the topic of his mother was always shot down quickly if it ever came up at all. He found himself asking, "What's that?"

She grinned again, but this time, the alcohol in Castiel's system suppressed the shiver. "He never talks about it, but that doesn't mean word can't get out. I'm no gossip, but I like knowing things. There's just something about looking at a person and knowing more about them than they think you do that can make a person tingle in all the right ways." She swallowed her own third shot back, biting into the lime harshly as she slammed her glass down.

She winced at its bitterness before leaning forward and saying, "He was just four years old when their house burned down, with poor Mrs. Winchester still inside. From what I heard, he saw her roast too, at least before he grabbed that kid brother of his and hauled him out onto the front lawn. And his dear old dad just couldn't take it and drank his brains into mush, but I bet you knew that part already, didn't you?"

Castiel stared at his glass, his mind turning slowly over the words. Anguish settled heavy on his chest, but it felt numbed, muted by the hum of the alcohol flowing through his system. "You ever met the guy?" Meg asked. "The infamous John Winchester?" Mutely, Castiel nodded. "Piece of work, isn't he?" He didn't have to look at her to know that she was smiling. He could hear it in her voice.

"He has problems," he finally said, turning his glass round and round between his fingers. "So does Dean. So do I. So do you, I bet."

"Oh, more than you could imagine," Meg chuckled. "Was your father a piece of shit too?"

"Was yours?" Castiel challenged, and Meg bit the side of her bottom lip, leaning back and regarding him carefully as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"My dad was great," she said. "Before he got locked up, anyway." Castiel almost wanted to apologize, but Meg added, "If I hear the word 'sorry' come out of that mouth of yours, you'll get a lime smashed in your baby blues, you got it?" He said nothing. She leaned forward again. "You never answered me, though, Clarence. Your dad. Deadbeat?"

"He left," Castiel said plainly.

"So yes."

He shrugged. "I suppose he could have been worse."

"Never got out the belt at the end of a long, hard day?" Meg asked.

"No," Castiel said, the word tasting foul on his tongue, bitter like the bite of the lime.

Meg arched her eyebrows. "Gives him a leg up on Winchester then, I guess."

She pushed the bottle of tequila toward him again, and this time, he took it.

Dean closed the door of the back bedroom behind him and went to sit on the edge of the – blessedly unoccupied – bed, sighing into the receiver of his phone. "Tell me one more time, Sammy," he sighed. "What was the nightmare about this time? Clowns or midgets?"

"It was Mom, Dean..." Sam said, his voice small over the phone, tinged with shame. Dean rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. "And Dad..."

"Tell me about it."

"I don't want to...Barry is still asleep. I don't want to wake him up. I don't want him to know. I'm locked in the bathroom for fuck's sake, Dean-"

"Hey, _language_ ," Dean chided, and Sam sighed, static blooming on Dean's end. "Just take a breath, Sammy. It's just a dream. Can't hurt you."

"I know," Sam clipped out. "I'm not a baby."

"Then why'd you call me?" There was silence on Sam's end for a long few moments, and Dean slumped forward. "What was this dream about?" Again, Sam didn't speak. "Come on, Sammy-"

"Mom..." he finally sighed, sounding like he was trying so hard to keep his voice from shaking. "Except she was all burned...and she and Dad...they were drowning...being...being washed down this giant dark whirlpool...and...and..." His breath hitched, and bless him, he made a valiant attempt at hiding it. Dean heard him take a deep breath. "Like you said...just a dream..."

Dean waited a moment, listening to his little brother's breath even out over the line, and he finally asked, "Do you need me to come get you? I've only had like a beer and a half, Sam. If you need me to get you...I can be there in fifteen. Tell Mrs. Cook that you have a stomach bug or something and need to come home early-"

"No, Dean," Sam said firmly. "I'm feeling better. I just wanted to talk."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Okay..." Dean tapped his fingers against his knee, closing his eyes and taking a few breaths himself. Honestly, this party was doing less to take his mind off of things than he'd hoped. He wouldn't have minded having an excuse to leave. Sam stifled a yawn on his end, and Dean smiled. "You okay?"

"Think so."

"Alright," he said. "And wake Barry up for Christ's sake. It's not even midnight. You guys should be sneaking junk food from the kitchen and telling scary ghost stories, or talking about girls." God, he could practically  _hear_  Sam blush, and he grinned. "Bet I know who'd be topic number one."

"Shut up," Sam chuckled.

"Just go have fun for the rest of your sleepover, already, alright?"

"Alright, Dean."

"Hey."

"What?"

"Goodnight."

Sam exhaled a short laugh. "'Night, Dean. And...thanks."

He hung up, and put his phone back in his pocket before standing, rubbing his eyes and wondering what kind of sick sense it made for Sam to be the one having nightmares instead of him.

His palms were still dragging across his stubble when the door swung open behind him, and he turned, a figure shuffling in. The light was dim, but it only took a few moments for Dean to recognize that mussed up dark hair and those bright blue eyes, now fogged over and unfocused. "Cas?" he asked, brow furrowing in worry and his heart pounding in his chest regardless of how he tried to stop it.

"I didn't want to interrupt," Castiel said, words slurring. He leaned against the door frame. "...while you were on the phone."

"Are you drunk?"

"No," Castiel spat. He slumped, taking a few uneasy steps toward him and finally relenting, "Yes..."

Dean reached for him, holding him up when he threatened to pitch forward onto the carpet. "Dude, what the fuck?"

"Meg had tequila..." Castiel mumbled, the answer to a question that Dean couldn't even think of.

"And?"

"And I drank it."

"Obviously." Slowly, he tried to guide Castiel to the bed, hoping with everything he had in him that the guy wouldn't puke on him. "Just sit down, okay? The hell are you even doing here-"

Before Dean knew what was happening, Castiel's hand had latched onto his arm, fingers digging into his sleeve. Dean's eyes darted up to meet Castiel's hazed over gaze, and suddenly, he was turning, Castiel pushing him down to sit on the edge of the mattress instead. "You left," he slurred.

"Wh...what?"

Castiel held up a finger, taking a moment to collect his tequila-soaked thoughts. "I told you...how I felt...and you left."

Dean sighed, staring down at the rug. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? It was shitty of me. But what was I supposed to do, Cas? You know what I told you...about Benny...about everything. I can't...Cas, I just can't."

The hurt in Castiel's eyes, even diluted by the alcohol in his system, felt like a stab between the ribs. "Can't?" Castiel repeated slowly, "Or won't?"

Dean had no answer for that. Anything he may have wanted to say settled in the pit of his stomach like sediment in water. "I'm..."

"Can't..." Castiel said again, moving closer, his lips so close to Dean's that Dean could feel his breath and smell the stink of alcohol on him. "...or won't?"

"Cas..."

Castiel's hand ran up over Dean's chest, slowly, more gentle and deft than the tequila should have allowed. "Are you scared?" Castiel breathed.

"Yes," Dean said, finding he couldn't think of a single lie.

Castiel looked endlessly sad. "Of me?"

"No."

He was so close now. Dean could feel the phantom kiss of his hot breath on his lips. Castiel's hand wandered lower.

"Then let me do this..."

Dean snapped back into reality, prying his eyes away from Castiel's lips to look down. The movement of Castiel's hand had lost all finesse now, as if fumbled with Dean's zipper. "Cas, what are you-?"

Castiel looked up at him almost desperately. "I can make it good..." he breathed. "I can make it feel good, Dean...maybe then you won't be afraid..."

He hadn't even realized Castiel had managed to undo the zipper until his hand slipped inside, his fingers wrapping around his soft length and squeezing, stroking clumsily. Dean moaned, hand flying to Castiel's shoulder, wanting to push, but hesitating. "Cas..." he ground out, "That's not..."

"Do you want me to?" Castiel asked, suddenly sounding shy. "Do you want me...to..."

"I..." The truth spilled from between his lips before he could stop it, breathless and ragged: "Yes..."

Castiel sank to his knees with a loud thump against the carpet, mouth close and hot, and Dean felt himself starting to harden in spite of his more rational mind screaming and him not to. His hips rolled up against Castiel's jaw, a harsh whine escaping his throat, and Castiel's palms planted themselves firmly on Dean's thighs, not to hold him there, but almost as if he needed to ground himself.

Dean gasped, eyes squeezing shut as Castiel's chapped lips wrapped around his length, tongue flicking against the head. But Castiel moaned, softly, almost like a plea, and Dean's eyes snapped open again. His arm moved without his own conscious command, and Castiel tumbled back onto the carpet, Dean standing on shaky legs and zipping himself up again.

"Shit..." he rasped, "Shit, shit, shit...C'mon, Cas, get up. Get up, Cas..." Castiel barely seemed to grasp what was happening as Dean lifted him, hauling him over to the bed and laying him down on his side. "Just...just stay there...shit..."

He moved to walk away, but Castiel grabbed his arm, gently this time. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. Dean pulled his arm away. "Dean, I'm sorry..."

"This isn't you, Cas...just sleep it off..."

"Dean..."

He sounded almost on the verge of tears, but they never fell.

"Sleep it off," Dean repeated, heading for the door. "I'll tell Meg check up on you. Just sleep it off, Cas. Please, just...sleep this shit off."

He stumbled out the door. Excuses be damned. He had to get out of this house.


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel did drift off into an alcohol-fogged sleep not long after Dean left, too exhausted and inebriated for his mind to keep racing around what he'd done. Sometime around two in the morning, Balthazar hoisted him up and half-carried him back home, all the time mumbling profanities in English and French and what Castiel vaguely thought he recognized as Italian.

To say that Naomi was furious with them when they got home was a severe understatement. Balthazar got the worst of it, then. Castiel's stern lecture waited until the morning, when he sat on the couch with slumped shoulders and a monster of a hangover and listened as she told him in no uncertain terms that she wouldn't tolerate his going out and getting falling-down drunk so long as he was living under her roof. He barely heard most of what she had to say; he was concentrating for most of that time on not throwing up all over the living room carpet.

The hangover passed, but he hardly felt better. The more he thought about what had happened at the party, the more his head ached and his stomach turned. Part of him hoped that it was some kind of tequila-induced hallucination or a dream, that Meg or Balthazar or some passing stranger had dumped him on the bed when he'd finally reached his drinking limit so that he wouldn't stumble into anyone or hurt himself. But even after all he'd drunk, his memory was infuriatingly clear; remembering the feeling and taste of Dean hardening against his tongue – something he'd once fantasized about – now made him feel ill.

He dreaded Wednesday and the end of his suspension, but it did come, and he walked into Gabriel's classroom feeling like a man being led to the electric chair. Would Dean be there at all? Would he be mysteriously absent? Castiel didn't know which would be worse.

He sat in the front, by the window, just as he always had, and noticed that the lab for that day was already set up. He hadn't come during first period; Gabriel probably wouldn't have wanted him there anyway after what had happened. He fiddled with the knob on the side of the Bunsen burner in front of him for a few moments before digging out his lab manual and absently flipping through its pages.

There were eyes on him; every pair seemed to drift over him at least once as people filed into the classroom. Castiel managed to pretend, at least, that it didn't make him want to squirm.

 _They all know,_  he thought. _They all know about what I did to Alastair. What if they know what I did to Dean too?_

The idea made his breakfast sour in his stomach.

He was just starting to wonder if Dean really would be absent that day – Castiel wouldn't have blamed him, and maybe it would come as a relief for the moment – when a familiar set of green eyes caught his from the doorway. Castiel froze, staring, unable to look away even as Dean lingered a moment in the hall before coming toward him and, to Castiel's shock, putting his backpack down in the space next to him.

"Finally off suspension?" he asked, donning a mask of impressive calmness. Mutely, Castiel nodded. "Heard about what happened. I don't think Alastair even knew what hit him. He was pretty banged up though. Nothing broken, but he'll be swollen and bruised for a good long time. He might just be scared of you now, though I doubt he'll ever admit it."

It was as if Dean didn't even remember what had happened, but surely he had to; he had been nowhere near as drunk as Castiel had been. "I'm not proud of what I did," Castiel said. It was true even if both of them attributed it to different things.

"Yeah well...I've been thinking, Cas...maybe the son of a bitch deserved it. Hell, hurting Jo..." He huffed, angrily. "If it had been me, I would have punched his lights out. That is, if she didn't get the chance first." He managed a smile, but it only seemed to tire him out.

After a long moment of silence, Castiel breathed, "Dean..." but didn't manage anything beyond that. The way Dean was looking at him now...something had changed in his eyes. Something had shifted. Castiel couldn't pinpoint what it was, but the way Dean saw him was different. That much he could tell. It made his stomach lurch uneasily, and he stood, shakily shoving his things back into his backpack and hurrying toward the door. Dean didn't call after him, but watched him go with mute confusion etched into his features.

Castiel reached the door the same time Gabriel did from the other side, and he nearly plowed into his teacher. "Whoa, Castiel," Gabriel exclaimed, putting his hands on Castiel's arms to steady him. "Where are you going? You alright?"

"I have to go to the nurse," Castiel managed to get out, not looking at Gabriel but instead staring at the window across the hall. "I feel sick. I need to go. I'm sorry..."

Nothing of what he said was a lie, and he couldn't bear to meet Gabriel's eyes to see if he believed him or not. But Gabriel's hands pulled away from Castiel's arms, and he stepped aside. "Fine," he said, voice tinged with some form of resignation. "Go."

Castiel did, not looking back.

A shuffle of feet behind him as he made his way down the stairs made him wonder of Gabriel had followed him, but when he turned, it was Dean making his way down to meet him in the stairwell. Castiel's head swam, but he did stop, leaning heavily on the railing. When Dean had made sure that they were alone, his shoulders slumped and he let out a magnificent sigh. "Guess you do remember, huh? I was sorta hoping you wouldn't, to be honest." He let out a small laugh, but there was no humor in it. "You were pretty hammered."

"I remember," Castiel said sullenly, hoping that the guilt swirling in his chest would open its maw and swallow him up. "I remember everything."

Dean didn't seem to know what to say. He leaned on the railing as well, staring at the wall. "I went to that party because I wanted to get my mind off of...well...you know..." He cast Castiel a side glance as he spoke, but didn't look at him beyond that. "I never thought I'd see you there, but when I did...I don't know, Cas...part of me was kind of happy. Until I saw how smashed you were, anyway. I should rip Meg a new one for getting you that drunk."

"It wasn't Meg's fault," Castiel told the tiles beneath his feet. "We were just talking." About what, he didn't say. "I poured my own shots."

Castiel couldn't ignore the elephant still loitering stubbornly in the room, and he took a breath before continuing: "Dean...what I did...it was..."

"Just forget it, Cas," Dean said, not unkindly. "You were drunk. You weren't thinking."

"But I _was_  thinking. Not clearly, but I should have realized what I was doing. That's not me, Dean. I don't...I never would have..." His breath rushed out of him, making him feel empty and weak, and he slumped against the railing, hanging his head. "I still have feelings for you," he said softly. "I won't lie about that. But what I did...I wasn't trying to force you to...to return them, or to feel like you owed it to me. I would never-"

Dean stopped him there, his hand pressing hard against Castiel's arm. "I said forget it, okay? It's over. It's done. We don't need to...to talk this out or anything, Cas. Just...move on, okay?"

"I _can't,_ " Castiel insisted, pulling away. "Dean, what I did...what I became...it was like I wasn't even me anymore, but I remember everything, all of it, so clearly..." He turned, heading down the stairs again. "I need to go..."

"Cas, don't go disappearing on me again!" Dean called, but Castiel didn't stop, and Dean didn't follow this time.

Castiel said nothing as Nurse Moseley took his blood pressure. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her watching him, lips pursed and gaze stern. "Your pressure is normal," she said, looking down at the cuff and letting the pressure release. "A little on the high end, but still normal. How's that bruise doing?" She gestured at his face, where the mark of his altercation with Chris was fading.

"Better," he said quietly.

"You know, you did a number on him. It's a wonder he wasn't in worse shape than he was. Guess part of you had enough sense to hold back."

"He came at me first," Castiel tried to explain, but the words held little significance to him now, and they offered no comfort.

"That don't give you a right to kick a boy when he's down, no matter how much he might deserve it." She sighed as she put the cuff away, crossing her arms. Her tone was quiet when she asked, "What's going on with you, Castiel? Suspension? Bruises? You're better than this. I know you are."

He wasn't so sure, but he had a vague sense that Nurse Moseley would smack him upside the head if he were to say that. "I've just got a lot on my mind," was all he said.

Nurse Moseley sat across from him, brow furrowing. "Tell me," she said.

"What do you want me to say?"

She shrugged. "I'm no guidance counselor, Castiel. But I've been working with kids your age for near thirty years. Sometimes it almost feels like I'm a little bit psychic when it comes to certain things." She laughed, lightly. "If you believe in that sort of thing, anyway. Most people would just call it intuition. But there's a difference between having a lot on your mind, whether it's family or grades or college, and having something eating at you from the inside. One does a whole lot more damage than the other. Guess which one that is."

Castiel stared at her, silently, but she said no more. It was his turn to talk, he realized. So he did.

He told her about Charlie, about how he'd felt more comfortable with her than he had with anyone in a long time, and about how she'd left right when he felt like he needed her most. He told her about Balthazar, about how he used to feel like he could tell him anything, but now he worried that Balthazar might start to look at him differently, or worse, even come to be afraid of him. He told her about Jo and Anna, and about Gabriel and Crowley, about how his English teacher was dating his mother and how his biology teacher seemed to have lost faith in him.

He told her about Alastair and Gordon, about their dirty looks and their snide comments and how it felt like the very walls in the school had eyes that would glare at him as he passed. He told her about his father, how he'd left and abandoned him, and about how he'd come back out of nowhere, about his nagging desire to let him back in despite every rational part of his mind screaming at him to keep him shut out. And he told her about Dean, about their study sessions, about how he'd told him the truth about his past and his own preferences. He kept to himself what he'd found out about Dean's mother, the details of his father's unexpected return that night, and the more sensitive aspects of what had happened at the party. But he told her about his feelings, about how Dean had run from them and seemed to want to forget everything that had happened between them out of fear of what everyone would think. The words spilled from his mouth so quickly that he barely had time to think them through before he was speaking them, and when he was done, Nurse Moseley merely nodded and stood up, going over to her desk and gesturing for him to follow. He didn't.

"That was...a lot, I know," he mumbled. "I didn't realize I had so much to tell..."

"You were right," she told him, and she raised her eyebrows, making her look almost impressed. "You do have a lot on your mind."

He sighed. "I don't know what to do."

"Well the first thing you have to wonder, Castiel, is what _can_  you do?" He tilted his head to one side, and she explained further, "You said Charlie moved away suddenly. Not much you can do about that except keep in touch where you can. Can you do that?" He nodded. "Good. Now your father...You've got a decision to make there. Do you want him in your life, or not?"

"I don't know."

"Of course you don't. You're seventeen. You shouldn't have to make that decision. But you still have to. Maybe not now. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not until you're twenty-five and going after your first PhD. But you will have to make it. So can you do that, do you think? When the time is right?" He paused a moment, so she answered for him: "The answer is yes, or at least it will need to be eventually. So then there's Dean..."

Castiel's fingers dug into the paper covering the cot, making it crinkle loudly.

"It's not that I worry my feelings are unrequited," he said. "I worry that...they are, and he doesn't want them to be."

Nurse Moseley eyed him carefully, standing by her desk. Castiel shifted under her gaze, feeling uneasy, like she was looking straight into his head. "Can't change what anyone else feels," she said softly, and Castiel could have sworn he detected a gentle note of sympathy in her voice.

"I know," he told her, and she arched an eyebrow at him.

"I know you know." She took a step toward him. "You really want my advice?"

He paused a moment, then said, "Yes."

"Talk to him."

It didn't seem to him like anything he hadn't already thought of before, and Missouri smiled slightly. "There now. You already knew I'd say that, didn't you?" He didn't reply. "There isn't anything I can tell you that you don't already know you have to do, Castiel. Guess that makes you a little bit psychic too."

Castiel wondered to himself as he wandered into the cafeteria later that day whether he hoped he'd come across Dean, or for just the opposite. Talk to him, Nurse Moseley had said, and as much as it made his heart race, it did seem like the only thing to be done. He couldn't stand the thought of losing Dean altogether, unrequited feelings or no.

Dean was hunched over a table far from the entrance, sitting across from Jo. They were the only ones at the table; Chris and Gordon were nowhere to be found. Castiel couldn't complain about that, at least. A hand on his shoulder made him turn, and Balthazar leaned far into his personal space the minute he did, blue eyes wide with curiosity and concern.

"Since when is it like you to skip class, Cassie?" he asked. "I know it's your first day back in the swing of things after the...incident, but you can't let that get to you, can you?"

"I didn't skip anything," Castiel told him, glancing back at Dean's table uneasily. "I went to the nurse."

"What on Earth for?" Balthazar pressed the back of his hand to Castiel's forehead. "You don't feel feverish." Castiel smacked it away.

"I'm fine," he insisted. "But there's something I need to do."

Balthazar looked unconvinced. "Fine, are you?"

"Yes."

"And you'd tell me if you weren't?" Castiel paused at that, and Balthazar sighed, leaning closer. "You know you've always got little old me, Cas."

Castiel nodded as Balthazar finally stepped back, and he moved past him. "Yes, I know I've always got you."

He could feel Balthazar eying him as he went, and his steps felt sluggish as he approached the table. Jo spotted him first, and she sat up straight suddenly, eyes darting between him and Dean. Dean straightened more slowly, looking back and then immediately turning his gaze toward the table again. Castiel stopped beside him. "Can we talk?" he asked.

"Not now, Cas," came Dean's gruff reply. He didn't look up at him.

"I just wanted to-"

"Not _now._ "

Castiel went silent, shuffling from one foot to the other. "Dean," he said in a hushed voice. "I need to-"

It was Jo who was the first to move; she got up and swiftly walked over to him, pushing him back gently with her hands on his arms. "Cas..." she sighed. "Now's just...really not a good time..."

"I don't think any time will be a good time."

"Trust me, Cas. I know him. And right now he just needs..." She glanced back at him and frowned, her brow furrowing before she turned to Castiel again. "Just...not now, okay?"

Castiel felt his shoulders round, his posture slumping as he looked down at the tile. "I understand if he's angry," he said.

"Not angry," Jo said. "Not really. Look, can we...can we walk a second?"

He paused a moment, looking over at Dean, who was still slumped over the table, not touching his burger. He nodded.

Jo led him out of the cafeteria, and they walked out to the empty track field. It was cold out, the beginnings of November having brought with it a dry Fall chill. They meandered slowly in front of the bleachers overlooking the track, and Castiel waited for Jo to speak first. She stared down at her hands, seeming to gather her thoughts before she finally did so: "So...Dean told me what you...what you told him. You know, about...how you feel."

Castiel swallowed, nodding mutely down at his shoes. Jo must have sensed his uneasiness, because she laughed; it sounded forced, but not unpleasant, like she was trying to ease the tension. "I can't really blame you, you know? I crushed on him hard for a while."

"But not anymore?" Castiel asked. Jo fought back a blush as she shrugged.

"I wonder sometimes...Maybe I still do. I've known him a long time. Well, sort of, anyway. My mom knew his dad. Knows him, I mean. They used to be good friends, but they had a sort of falling out after he started drinking..." Jo shoved her hands into her pockets to warm them, suddenly looking dreadfully sad. "We used to play together, me and Dean, and sometimes even Sam, even though he was just a baby. Dean never wanted him out of his sight if he could help it." She did smile at that. "But I guess Mom didn't want me around that...the alcohol and stuff, so we didn't see each other for a pretty long time.

"I saw Sam once or twice back at Kripke. But I never saw Dean until my freshman year here. My mom didn't want me hanging around him at first, what with his dad's drinking problems and all, but I just couldn't stay away. She loves Dean. Always had. But she was just trying to protect me."

Castiel matched her small smile with his own. "It seems like you can do that pretty well on your own."

"Damn straight I can," she told him with a grin. They walked in silence for a few moments. "It almost happened...me and Dean. It was complicated, I guess. He told me he was seeing somebody else once, but he would never tell me who it was. Still, in the end we just decided we were better off friends." There was a note of wistfulness in her voice, and after a beat, she took a deep breath, like she was trying to consider what to say next. "I think he wants more than that with you though."

Castiel stopped walking altogether. "What makes you say that?" he asked.

"I don't really know. He never told me that. But I think he does. Like I said, I know him. Even if he doesn't, I think it would hurt like Hell for him to lose you completely." She turned, facing him. "I mean, look at me, Cas. I fell hard for him, and nothing ever happened between us. But he's still one of the best friends I've ever had, and I don't regret a single second of any of it."

"So you're saying that I should just be content with being friends," Castiel said.

"I'm saying that it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if it ends up that way." She continued walking ahead of him, but he didn't follow right away. "Maybe it won't. It's kind of up to him now anyway. Which is why he just...needs some time." He finally caught up to her, and she kept talking to him, though she didn't turn to look at him again: "Dean's the kind of guy who thinks a lot. Sometimes more than what's good for him. And the more he thinks, the more he feels, so the more he has to think about what it is he's feeling..." She sighed. "Guys are complicated that way. Him especially."

"Yes," Castiel agreed after a moment. "He is that."

Dean didn't talk to him that day, or the day after. They passed each other in their classes, occasionally locked eyes in the cafeteria, but Dean never said a word. Still, Castiel remembered what Jo said; he waited, trusting that Dean would approach him when he was ready. And whenever that happened, Castiel would listen to whatever it was Dean had to say, and he'd accept it.

His feelings for Dean didn't wane. Part of him hoped that they would, that maybe by the time Dean did decide to rekindle some sort of friendship, Castiel could do so without his hormones making things complicated. But as it stood, every time he saw Dean, his heart raced, and his mind flooded with vibrant fantasies ranging from merely making him laugh, to making him feel desperate, burning pleasure. All of them made it hard to concentrate and left him feeling strangely wan when he snapped out of them.

His grades didn't suffer too heavily, except for those in English. Every Monday and Thursday, they began the class with a short essay quiz on their reading, and Castiel's grades on them dipped from B's to C's to D's. Finally, after two and a half weeks, as he was on his way out of the classroom, Crowley bent one thick finger in his direction, bidding him come over to his desk.

Wordlessly, Crowley slapped a paper down in front of him the moment he came over, a red F glaring up at him from the page. "What is that?" Crowley asked, pointing at the crimson letter.

"An F," Castiel replied tiredly.

"No, it's a disgrace. I actually thought you were putting some sort of effort into these things, but ever since that bloody fight you had with Alastair, it's like you can barely think anymore."

Castiel wanted so badly to spit back that it was hard to concentrate on literature when he couldn't stop picturing his English teacher in bed with his mother, but he bit his tongue to keep the comment from escaping. "I can think fine," he said instead. "It's writing that's a problem for me."

"Well until I manage to put the finishing touches on my mind-reading goggles, writing is all you've got. I'm not grading you on your inner monologue, Novak."

"I know that."

"Not bloody well enough, it seems like." He shoved the paper into Castiel's hands. It crinkled beneath his fingers. "Invest in a writing tutor if you have to. Just don't let this happen again."

Bitterly, Castiel took the paper, fighting back a glare that he knew would only lead to more trouble, and he turned to leave with a clipped and forced, "Yes sir." The words tasted sour on his tongue.

He didn't realize how much anger was bubbling under his skin until he went to close his locker and slammed it shut loudly enough for the sound to echo down the hallway and make several people jump. He stood there, huffing as he zipped up his backpack, and decided that standing around feeling sorry for himself was going to get him nowhere.

"I heard he came on to like five different guys at Meg's party a few weeks ago," someone whispered, and they were either stupid enough to think that he couldn't hear them, or intent on making sure that he could. He turned, glaring at the girl who was leaning toward her friend across the hall. She was tall, with fiery red hair and a dark leather jacket over her shoulders, partially obscuring her T-shirt that proclaimed proudly: "The Devil made me do it."

The red-haired girl smiled at him, and where Meg's grin had sent shivers down his spine, this one made him feel as though someone had poured ice water into his stomach. She straightened up, met his glare with a cool arch of her eyebrow, and leaned back against the lockers with her arms crossed over her chest. "Need something?" she asked.

Castiel turned from her without a word and hauled his backpack onto his shoulders. "Winchester was one of them, too," he heard her hiss, and there was no way she wasn't making absolutely certain he picked up her voice. "Doesn't surprise me. I always knew that kid was a closet faggot."

He would not attack another student. He would not attack another student. He would not attack another student.

His fingers clenched tight around the strap of his backpack, and he stalked down the hallway, pretending not to feel as if every eye was locked on him. He could still hear the red-haired girl laughing and he pictured the way her blood-colored lips pulled back over her teeth, unable to help it. He kept his gaze forward.

He found Dean by the bleachers by the track field just after school. The air was chilly, and Castiel pulled his navy hoodie tighter around his shoulders, but Dean didn't seem to mind it; he had his nose buried in a book – _The Hobbit,_  Castiel noticed when he got a bit closer – and he didn't even seem to notice Castiel approaching.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel said, and Dean jumped, dropping his book.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?" Dean barked, and he sighed as he stood and reached down to pick up the novel off of the grass; it was worn and creased, clearly well-read. "Seriously, man...you're like a cat the way you sneak up on people."

Castiel shrugged. "I'm working on it," he said softly. Dean didn't open his book again, nor did he put it away. He brushed the cover off tenderly, flipping the pages across the pad of his thumb. "I'm sorry."

"Cas, I told you, you don't have to-"

Castiel held up a hand to stop him. "Just...just let me apologize, Dean. I have to...I just need to say that I'm sorry, alright?"

Dean looked slightly uncomfortable, swaying slightly back and forth and picking at the fringe of his jacket, but he nodded. "Okay." After a beat, he added, "Apology accepted, I guess."

"Thank you." He wanted to, but Castiel didn't feel all that much better. Maybe that would come with time.

"So..." Dean said after a moment, looking down at his feet. "Where do we go now?"

"I'm not sure. I was kind of making it up as I go."

"And how's that going for you?"

Castiel shrugged. "It could be better, honestly. But I guess it could also be worse."

"Yeah...yeah it could."

They stood there, shifting their weight from one foot to the other without sparing each other more than a glance. "You weren't in English today," Castiel said after a moment.

"I took a break to catch up on some of my own literature."

"To be fair, I think Tolkien would be more interesting than Bronte anyway." Dean smiled, finally, and Castiel found he couldn't stop himself from doing the same. It faded all too quickly, from both of their faces, and Castiel suddenly felt his heart begin to race, but the words were already forming before his nerves could hold them back. "Dean...I want to ask you something. And I'd like you to be honest with me."

Dean looked a bit uneasy, but at the very least, he did look Castiel in the eye. "Alright."

Castiel took a breath. "You asked me if I had feelings for you, and I told you I did."

"Yeah, I remember." There was no hint of bitterness in Dean's voice, and Castiel wondered if he'd expected there to be.

"Do you feel the same way?"

Dean stiffened, knuckles turning white against the cover of his book. "What?"

"Just tell me, Dean, and be honest. Yes or no?"

"Cas..." He trailed off, stuffing his book into his raggedy backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. "I can't...do this..."

"Please tell me, Dean." The sheer desperation in his own voice surprised him.

" _Cas..._ " he breathed again, and he turned away, running his hands through his hair.

Castiel took a step forward, hating the sight of Dean turning from him. "I'm not asking for anything more than an answer. I just want to know, Dean. Yes or no?"

It took Dean an agonizingly long time to turn to face him again and finally force out, "No."

Disappointment settled hot and thorny in Castiel's gut. He was determined not to let it show. Whether or not he was successful, he had no idea, but given the hurt in Dean's eyes, he doubted it. "Alright," he said, and he made himself smile. "Alright, Dean...thank you."

He turned to leave when Dean suddenly blurted, "Yes!"

"What?" Castiel asked, blinking at him in confusion as he glanced back at him again.

"I..." Dean looked surprised, as if the word had punched its way out of him without him giving it permission. "I...fuck, Cas...I...I think I do, okay? But I can't do this again. I can't lie to my dad's face about this, and I can't hide it from Sam, and I can't lose another friend..."

Looking as though he'd suddenly found himself twice as heavy without being given the time to learn how to shoulder the burden, Dean collapsed down onto the bleachers again, his shoulders rounded and his eyes tired.

"You're not going to lose me, Dean," Castiel said, a soft assurance. Dean laughed bitterly.

"Yeah?" he asked, not sounding like he believed him. "You promise?"

"Yes."

Dean let out a hollow sound: almost a sigh, but clipped short by frustration. He laced his fingers together, staring down at the grass as Castiel stared down at him. "Kinda fucked up, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"Us. Us two...A biology genius with a rebellious streak and a Tolkien fanboy who can't quite get up the nerve to come out of the closet..." He fell silent, and in the moments it took him to gather his thoughts again, Castiel sat next to him on the bleachers. The metal was bitingly cold. "Maybe I would...if things were different."

"How different would they need to be, do you think?" Castiel ventured.

"I don't know, Cas." At least he was honest. Castiel could see it in his eyes. "I really don't know." He took a breath. "But I can't...I want to. Part of me really wants to...but I can't."

The disappointment didn't feel much lighter. Castiel wasn't sure if he'd been expecting it to. But he forced a smile anyway, because for now, Dean was beside him, and maybe, if he was lucky, that wouldn't change. "Maybe...we could start those study sessions again? I could use the help in English, to be honest..." He forced out a somewhat sheepish laugh, and Dean's smile was genuine, if small.

"I'd like that, Cas," he said. "I could use a hand studying for the next bio test, honestly."

"I hardly think you need me for that," Castiel said softly.

"You kidding?" Dean laughed, and the sound made Castiel feel like he was glowing inside. "That class is hell without you."

"English class sounds more like Hell to me," said Castiel. "And Crowley is the King."

"King of Hell, huh? Sounds fitting for him."

As Dean spoke, he stood, adjusting his backpack on one shoulder and taking a few steps toward the parking lot. But he paused, looking back at Cas. "We're okay, right?" he asked, looking concerned and confused. Castiel stood as well, running his hands over his backside a few times to try and warm it, but to no avail.

"I'd like to think so."

Dean nodded, taking a step toward him. "It's just...you having feelings for me, and me...well..." He scratched the back of his neck. "This feels like Jo all over again..."

"How so?"

"She was crushing on me, you know? And it was mutual, even if I didn't realize it until way later. But I was...me and Benny were just starting to toy with...and well, I didn't want to..." Dean couldn't seem to find the right words, so Castiel put a hand on his arm to stop him.

"I get it, Dean," he said. "And you and Jo...you seem fine now, right?"

"Yeah...yeah, we are." Dean did smile a bit wistfully at that.

"Then I think we'll be fine too. You won't break me, Dean. I can handle plenty. And you're my friend, first and foremost. If that's all we can be...I suppose we could do much worse."

Dean sighed, his smile managing not to fade, but turning heavy, like it weighed him down. "Why you gotta go and do that, Cas?" he asked, sounding as if it pained him.

Castiel's brow furrowed in confusion. "Do what?"

"Make me wanna..." He sighed, running his hands through his hair and turning again, but not moving away. "Nevermind."

"Dean..." Castiel approached, placing a careful hand on his shoulder. "What?"

Dean's voice was soft, almost inaudible, when he said, sheepishly, "Make me want to kiss you..."

Castiel hadn't been expecting that. He blinked as Dean peeked at him over his shoulder. "I wasn't trying to..."

"Yeah, course you're not, Cas. You don't try. You just do." Suddenly, Dean was close, so close that Castiel could feel his breath on his skin, see it puff against his lips in cold smoky wisps. "It's kind of frustrating, you know?"

"I'm sorry," Castiel said, unsure of what else to say, and Dean laughed. Something changed in his eyes, and suddenly Castiel just knew, in the same moment that Dean knew.

Dean was going to kiss him.

Castiel stared at him, unblinking, issuing a silent challenge:  _I dare you, Dean Winchester._  And Dean seemed all too eager to take him on. So close, now; their noses brushed together, tender and clumsy, and Castiel wanted to laugh at the brilliant absurdity of it all. He didn't, though. He remained statue-still, like a soldier at attention, barely even breathing.

The scuffle of feet made Dean jump before Castiel even realized what it was, and Dean turned away, looking at something just beyond the bleachers with horror gleaming in his eyes. Castiel glanced over moments later.

There were four of them: Christopher Alastair, sneering at Castiel like he was a piece of roadkill on the side of the street; Gordon Walker, whose mouth twitched in what seemed like a sour smirk, just barely twisting his lips; Allison Abbadon, who Castiel had seen in the hallway earlier that day, white puffs of air rising from between her red lips; and Meg Masters, who raised a lazy and somehow knowing eyebrow at him and Dean and put a hand on her hip.

He heard Dean's breath hitch, almost felt it in his own chest, and his heart raced from anxiety rather than anticipation.

Suddenly, he was on the ground, grass wet and cold on his hands and his legs, and he was staring up at Dean, who had the darkest, most helpless mix of fear and desperation swirling in his eyes. Castiel could barely even piece together what had happened, how Dean had shoved him down with a strong push to the chest, much like he had at the party before, before Dean was speaking again, spitting, "The fuck are you doing, man?"

"What?" Castiel breathed, brows knit together.

Dean looked like he was in pain. "Keep your fucking lips away from me," he barked, looking between him and the group who was advancing in slow, careful steps. "I don't want them anywhere near me. I don't want _you_  anywhere near me!"

"Gotta be careful around this one," the red-haired Allison said icily. "He has a habit of trying to get in where nobody wants him."

"Heard he was harboring a little crush on you," said Alastair, but he looked at Castiel as he spoke. "Shoulda tread a little more carefully."

"Freak doesn't give up," Gordon spat.

Meg was oddly quiet, sighing, "What did you go and do, Clarence?"

"Dean..." Castiel breathed. He looked up at him, and saw that Dean was shaking, fists clenched by his sides, and Castiel could have sworn there were tears in the corners of his eyes. If there were, he stubbornly refused to let them fall.

Dean pointed a quivering finger at him. "I don't want you," he said, trying so desperately to convince everyone – whether it was Castiel or the group or himself – that it was true. "I'm not like you. I'm not a...I'm not a..."

 _Don't say it. Oh please, don't say it._  The word that teetered on the edge of Dean's lips was one that had no meaning to Castiel from anyone else, but please, not from him.

"I'm not a _freak,_ " he finally managed to get out.

Castiel felt like he'd been stabbed between the ribs.

He tried to pretend he couldn't hear the laughter as he hauled himself up and ran. The cold made him feel numb.

The numbness didn't stop as he warmed up. The day wore on in a slow haze. He walked his bike the last half of the leg home when school was over, after hitting the curb and nearly falling into traffic. He pretended he couldn't hear the words echoing in his head as he put the bike in the garage.

_Faggot, freak..._

He went upstairs, started on his homework. The answers came almost lazily, and he scrawled them out in a wide, messy hand.

_Crazy, slut..._

"Cassie?" Balthazar's knock on the door went ignored. "Cas, I know you're in there. You look pale as anything, you know. Did you walk home? In this cold? Without me? Seriously, Cassie, what's gotten into you?"

_Crazy..._

He didn't realize he'd been staring at his biology textbook for so long until Balthazar's knocks faded away and the sun began to set outside. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe that would be a relief. At the very least, it would mean it wasn't his fault.

_Freak..._

He shut his book, knocked it off his desk, let it fall face-down on the carpeted floor with a dull thump.

"I just want to see him..."

"You actually think you have that right?"

"He's my _son._ "

"He's _my_  son. You gave up the right to call him yours when you left."

"Naomi...just let me talk to him."

"No."

"Naomi-"

"Ask again, and the answer won't change. It's late. Years too late. And the answer is still no."

A sigh. Castiel leaned against the wall just around the corner at the top of the stairs, feeling it rattle through his bones.

"Could you just...give him something for me?"

"Unless it's the time he wasted trying to find you? No."

"Please, just-"

"Goodnight, Chuck."

The door slammed. Castiel went back to his room.

_**Queen Charlie:** _ _Hey Spock, you online?_

_**Queen Charlie:** _ _I haven't talked to you in forever. You gotta tell me how that brawl with Alastair worked out._

_**Queen Charlie:** _ _Did you talk to Dean?_

_**Queen Charlie:** _ _Come on, I'm starving for details, here!_

_**Queen Charlie:** _ _Is everything okay?_

_**Queen Charlie:** _ _Look, just message me back sometime, okay? I miss you, alright? There, I said it._

_**Anna:** _ _You online, little bro?_

_**Anna:** _ _It's super late here. I couldn't sleep. Watching the sunrise instead._

_**Anna:** _ _I sent you a postcard. Did you get it yet?_

_**Anna:** _ _Helloooooooo?_

_**Anna:** _ _Went to bed already, I guess...I get how it is. Give your big sister a call sometime, okay?_

_**HarvJo:** _ _what the hell is going on with cas?_

_**HarvJo:** _ _i know ur online, dean!_

_**HarvJo:** _ _i saw him leaving after school today. he looked like he was gonna hurl or something, and now he wont answer my texts. and neither will u. wtf happened?_

_**HarvJo:** _ _i know u guys had a fight or whatever, but cant u get over that? i mean, u and i both know cas is a hell of a guy._

_**HarvJo:** _ _u know its okay, right? the whole thing...u know what im talking about. its totally fine. talk to me, will u?_

_**HarvJo:** _ _did something happen?_

_**HarvJo:** _ _is something going on?_

_**HarvJo:** _ _dean...what the hell did u go and do?_


	7. Chapter 7

The next day, Dean met Alastair by the dumpsters behind the school gym before class, and the first thing he said when he saw that demonic-looking smirk of his was, "Go fuck yourself you son of a bitch." Alastair's smile faltered, slowly morphing into a glare.

"The fuck did you say to me?"

"You heard me." Dean stepped up close. "I said go fuck yourself." The satisfaction of it bloomed warm in his chest, coursing through his veins and making his fingers tingle.

Chris looked like he wanted to loose a punch, slam him to the ground and kick him good and hard in the ribs. But he moved slower now, like he was still sore from his brawl with Cas even though his bruises had faded and the cuts had healed. "This about that faggot freak, Castiel?" he spat. "You feeling bad for pushing his sorry ass into the mud?"

"He's not a fuckin' faggot," Dean said. "And I'm done talking to you. You hear me? Done." He backed away a few steps before turning, fists clenched at his sides as he walked toward the school, his breath puffing white before him.

"You really think I'm gonna take that?" Chris called after him, but from the sound of it, he wasn't moving to follow. "After everything I did for you-" Dean whirled around, gritting his teeth. Chris smirked again. Dean resisted the urge to knock those damn crooked teeth right out of his skull. "You were just a scared little kid when I got to you. I helped you make a name for yourself."

"You made me something I never wanted to be, and I'm done, do you hear me? I'm finished, Alastair." He turned again, and this time, he made a silent promise to himself that he wouldn't look back.

Chris growled behind him, still not advancing a step. "You're a freak and everyone knows it!" he cried. His words echoed in the cold air.

Dean kept his promise. He didn't turn. He held up a fist, middle finger extended and let that do the talking for him instead.

He didn't look up when people whispered, didn't care what they were saying, or at least he tried to make himself stop caring. He pulled himself as far into his father's worn leather jacket as he could, like it was battle armor, too big for his frame, but still too familiar to remove.

That evening, he waited in the parking lot of Kripke Middle with the radio turned off. He replayed his conversation with Christopher fucking Alastair over and over in his head as he sat there, but the satisfaction that he got from it grew cooler and cooler until he felt like he was trying to warm his hands over the dying embers of a fire. He huffed and turned up the heat in the car instead.

The minute Sam got into the car, he raised an eyebrow. "Something wrong with the radio?"

"I turned it off," Dean said.

"You?" Sam asked with a slightly forced grin. "Keeping the radio _off?_  You sick or something?"

"No, Sam. Just tired." His hands were cold and clumsy. He clenched and unclenched them around the steering wheel to warm them up.

Sam folded his arms over the bag in his lap and stared down at them. The tension seemed to leech into the upholstery like a disgusting stench.

"Whatever happened to Cas?" Sam asked hesitantly after a moment, and Dean forced himself not to react beyond his knuckles bleeding white against the steering wheel.

"Nothing."

"But you haven't mentioned him in weeks. And I really liked him. I thought you really liked him."

A little too much, Dean thought mournfully. Or maybe it was not enough.

"Was it because of Dad? Cause of what he said?"

"No," Dean clipped out.

"But it is, isn't it? You told me that he couldn't run our lives forever! You said he wouldn't have all the power when it came down to something that really mattered."

"It's complicated, Sammy. You don't understand-"

"Don't tell me I don't understand!" Sam snapped. "Just because I'm younger doesn't mean I'm stupid, Dean! You like Cas! I know you do! You guys are friends! Why are you trying to pretend you're not just because you're scared-"

"I'm not fucking _scared,_  alright?" Dean yelled, slamming his palms against the steering wheel and making Sam jump in his seat. "You don't understand what the hell's going on. You just don't, alright? So just fucking drop it, you hear me?"

The silence stretched on, and on, and Sam's eyes narrowed, his lips pressing together in a hard line before he hung his head, staring down at his hands again.

He didn't ask any more questions after that. Dean added opening his damn mouth to a growing list of regrets.

For two days, Dean felt like he was walking in a dream. Maybe it was more like a nightmare, the kind where he wanted more than anything to run from something that he knew was chasing him, but his legs seemed to be made out of wet sand. For two days, he went from class to class, barely paying attention and not even bothering to take notes. Gabriel didn't say anything, and neither did Crowley. None of his teachers did. Maybe they'd finally given up on him. Dean wasn't exactly surprised..

He brought his own lunch from home, ate bland sandwiches and day-old pizza out in the parking lot, leaning up against the hood of his baby. He wasn't sulking. Dean Winchester did not sulk. But the thought of sitting in that overcrowded cafeteria made him feel sick, especially when he knew that he wouldn't see Castiel there, just like he hadn't seen him in biology or English class, and hadn't seen his bike chained to the rack outside the school or his car in the parking lot. What he would have said to him if he had seen him, Dean had no idea, but his absence was just as much a reminder of what he had done as his presence would have been.

Once or twice, he picked up his phone, scrolled through his contacts to Castiel's number and stared at it, finger hovering over the green button. He never pressed it. He doubted Castiel would even pick up if he did.

A hand on his arm made him turn as he started to head past the cafeteria on the second day, and he glanced down. Bright brown eyes gazed up at him from under a fringe of blonde bangs. "The hell is going on with you?" Jo asked, and Dean sighed.

"Noth-"

"Don't you dare say nothing. You think I don't know you well enough to know when something's bugging you? Seriously, what the hell happened? Does it have something to do with Cas?" Dean didn't get the chance to reply. "Of course it fucking does...Jesus, Dean...are you going to talk to me or what?"

"If you'll give me a damn chance to, maybe," Dean said bitterly, and he rubbed a tired hand over his eyes. "Cas and I are...we're just done, okay?"

"Done? What do you mean done?"

"I mean _done._ " He adjusted his backpack over his shoulder, trying to push past her, but she was having none of it.

"Don't you dare do this, Dean Winchester," she said harshly.

"Do what?"

"Throw away something good. You always fucking do that, Dean. You always try to convince yourself that you don't deserve good things."

Not after what he did, he didn't. "Jo..."

"Cas won't answer my texts, won't pick up his phone, won't answer my Skype messages...According to Balthazar, he's barely left his room. Says he's sick." She scoffed. "More like hurt." Her gaze trailed down Dean's legs, fixing on Dean's shoes, and her voice was small when she finally said, "I'm worried about him, Dean. I'm really fucking worried."

So was he. He was so damn worried it made him feel sick. But this was Cas they were talking about: rational, logical, unflappable Cas, who let insults roll off him like water off a duck and didn't take a single ounce of shit from bullies or assholes. He'd never roll over and let life crush him beneath its tires. Dean was sure of that, and yet, he still worried.

"He'll be fine," was all he said, though even he knew it didn't sound like he believed it himself. It was probably because he wasn't entirely sure if he did.

Jo sighed. "Have you called him?" she asked.

Dean laughed, humorlessly. "He doesn't want to talk to me."

"Bullshit!" Jo said, shoving him. "I don't know what happened between you guys, but you have to at least try to fix it!"

"Why?"

Her sudden reply seemed to burst out of her, and it damn near knocked the wind out of him: "Because you fucking love him."

Dean could _feel_  the color drain from his face, and he looked from one end of the deserted hall to the other, frantically. "What? I don't...I don't fuckin-"

"You do. God, you do." She smiled, shakily, but it was genuine. "You've had a thing for him since the first week of school. Don't even pretend you don't."

Dean's hand shook as he wrapped his finger around the strap of his backpack, and Jo stepped forward, cupping his face in her soft palm. "It's okay," she said, softly, and she leaned up on her tip-toes to press a kiss to his cheek. He sighed, leaning into it. "All of it...it's okay, Dean."

He hadn't realized how much he'd needed to hear it until it was already out of Jo's mouth, and suddenly he was too heavy for his own legs. He wrapped his arms around her, resting his head on her shoulder and letting her hold him up for just a moment or two; she was stronger than she looked. He breathed in her scent, nose buried in her sweater, and he closed his eyes and dug his fingers into the fabric at her back as she ran a soothing hand up and down his spine.

They walked in silence and sat on the stairs leading down the track field, not saying a word. Dean pointedly looked anywhere but at the bleachers, until the bell rang to signal the end of the lunch period. "You have class," he said to Jo. She smiled at him.

"So do you," she pointed out.

"You know I'm not gonna let you skip. I promised your mom I'd keep an eye on you."

"And I promised Sam I'd do the same for you." Dean raised an eyebrow at her, and she giggled, standing. "Go together?" she offered.

"Yeah...alright," he said, taking her hand and letting her help him stand.

They were halfway down the hall when the crowd began to part before them, Balthazar shoving his way through and stalking toward them with his brow creased hard in anger. His hands were balled into tight fists, his slim shoulders hunched over, and his face was tinged red. "And here he is," Balthazar spat bitterly, "Dean fucking Winchester! Still walking and talking just as if every little thing is right with the world, are you?"

"What the hell's gotten into you?" Jo asked, pressing just slightly closer to Dean's side and inserting herself, only barely, between him and Balthazar.

"Suppose he didn't tell you then?" Balthazar asked, still glaring at Dean as he spoke. "What he did to our dear Cas?" He was almost shaking, his fists clenched so tight that his skin bled white at the knuckles. Dean felt his stomach turn, but he didn't look away.

Balthazar's voice grew softer, almost fonder as he said, "Cassie can take a lot you know...but this...this could very well be _l_ _a goutte d'eau qui fait déborder le vase_ , I think."

"Dean..." Jo said, gently, looking up at him with eyes wide and searching for some kind of explanation. "What is he talking about? What...did you do?"

Dean said nothing, didn't flinch away or push him back when Balthazar pressed a finger to the center of his chest. "Go on and tell her, why don't you?" he challenged. "She's your friend, isn't she? Like Cas was?"

A crowd was gathering, sensing that something was about to come to a head between the two of them. Dean sensed it as well, but he still didn't back away, feeling oddly calm even as Balthazar flushed red in the face and barked, "Tell her or don't tell her, _c'est tout comme_ , _vous savez_."

"Balthazar-" Jo tried to get out, but his fist was already flying, his rage sending it slamming into Dean's cheek bone. Dean stumbled back, tripped and fell, landing on his ass in the middle of the hallway as everyone around them gasped in surprise. Jo pressed her hands to Balthazar's chest, pushing him back, asking what the hell was wrong with him in the tone she normally reserved for when she was royally pissed off. It was the same one her mother used, he'd noted once before. He would have found it funny if his cheek was throbbing so badly.

" _C'est le dernier des hommes!_ " Balthazar spat. " _Il ne vaut rien. Il est désespéré!_ "

Dean stood, slowly, but didn't take a single step toward Balthazar, nor did he say a single word. His cheek ached, but he couldn't help but feel he deserved it. Balthazar massaged his knuckles, glaring silently until a firm hand on Dean's shoulder pulled him back.

Principal Michael Milton looked between the two of them, from Balthazar to Dean and back again, brow pinched unhappily beneath a well-kept fringe of short dark hair. "Is this what I'm supposed to spend my day doing now?" he asked, frowning deeply. "Breaking up fights in the halls?" He looked around at the crowd, which had already started to disperse, and said, "You all have classes to get to! Go on! I don't want to see a single one of you in my office written up for being late, do you hear me?"

Jo, Balthazar and Dean all stayed where they were, and Michael took his hand off Dean's shoulder, gesturing for him to stand beside Balthazar by the lockers. He did so without a word, Balthazar seething as he did. "You," Michael said, addressing Jo. "Class, now."

"But I-"

He stopped her before she could form another syllable. "Class," he repeated, more insistently. "Now." She dropped her head low, looking up and Dean and Balthazar both with something in her eyes that Dean couldn't name: curiosity, concern, frustration and sympathy all rushed through her gaze so quickly that it made him almost dizzy.

Michael seemed to be waiting for one of them to speak, but neither of them did. Balthazar's mouth twitched slightly, like he was holding the words back, but Dean felt no desire to say a single thing. He concentrated bitterly on the throb in the side of his face and wished that it was enough pain to make him feel like he'd been paid back for what he had done.

Finally, Michael let out a frustrated breath and said, "I have better things to do with my time than break up fights like this. I could have both of you suspended."

"Seems like a little much, don't you think?" another voice said, and all three of them looked up.

"Gabriel," said Michael, as the teacher strode toward them. Gabriel arched one eyebrow in acknowledgment. "Don't you have a class to teach?"

"Pop quiz," Gabriel replied cooly. "I stepped out a second to see what all the commotion was about. A few of my students were late. Said some fight broke out on the first floor. Is there something in the water around here, or what?"

"Get back to your class, Gabriel. I'll handle this."

"Dean is one of my students." Gabriel glanced at him. "I know him. His grades have been improving this year." To Dean's surprise, Gabriel didn't say how his grades had slipped over the past couple of weeks. He kept that to himself instead, looking pointedly at Dean as he spoke. "You should really get that face checked out. It's gonna bruise."

"I'm fine," Dean said, softly, not even realizing the words were leaving his mouth until they already had. It felt like a reflex by now.

Michael sighed, rolling his eyes. "Go to the nurse, Winchester," he said. "And detention after school, the both of you. Mr. Milton here-" He looked over at Gabriel with his mouth pressed into a hard line. "-will be making sure you both serve. Won't you?"

"Kinda guessing I don't get a choice in the matter," Gabriel said. Michael seemed to smile, only just barely, and he turned toward Balthazar.

"What class do you have this period?"

"Nothing," Balthazar said to the floor. "I have it free."

"Then I want you to turn around and head to the library, and if I see you so much as look at each other the wrong way, I'll have you both suspended, you understand me?"

Bitterly, the both nodded, and Michael pressed his hand to Dean's shoulder again, leading him over to the nurse's office. Dean didn't bother looking back at Gabriel or at Balthazar as he walked.

"Every time I see one of you kids come in with a busted lip or a bloody nose, I just wanna give you an extra slap on the back of the head for getting yourself hurt," Nurse Moseley said with a sigh as she gently felt Dean's cheek. He winced. "Course, as a nurse, I can't rightly do anything but give you a Tylenol and hope you'll learn some sense."

"I don't need any Tylenol," Dean said, trying to stand up from the cot. "I gotta-"

"Hold your damn horses," Nurse Moseley commanded, pushing him gently back down onto the padded surface. She sat across from him and sighed, her expression softening. "Dean...I thought you'd gotten past this..." Dean looked down at the floor. "After that freshman year, I...well, I guess I hoped you'd have found some good sense."

"Yeah, well maybe I lost it."

For that, she really did whack him on the side of the head – his good side, at least. "Ow!"

"Don't you go saying things like that, Dean Winchester," she told him firmly. Her tone changed, becoming gentler, more sympathetic as she said, "Is this because of what happened between you and that Castiel boy?"

Dean stiffened at that. "Nothing happened."

"According to him, it sure did," she said, and Dean looked up at her in surprise. Just how much had Castiel told her? She seemed to sense his distress and said, "Now, he didn't tell me anything much. Just that...well, he was awfully worried about you."

"About me?"

She nodded. "Says he worried you...you couldn't keep your friendship the way it was. Said he was worried he ruined it."

"Cas didn't ruin anything," Dean said softly. "Maybe I did..."

"What makes you go and say that?"

Dean began to shake, feeling nauseous, and his fingers dug into the paper under his legs. "Dad can't know," he said, from between clenched teeth. "Dad can't ever know..."

Nurse Moseley furrowed her brow in confusion and concern, and Dean's heart raced in his chest, beating against his sternum in a stubborn, pounding rhythm. All those years, hiding porn mags under his mattress but keeping the Sports Illustrated male swimsuit issues tucked in a locked box at the back of his closet, saying to himself when he'd open it at two in the morning when his dad was already passed out on the couch, "Dad can never know." Feeling guilty and dirty and wrong when he tried to look his father in the eye the next day, constantly fearing that one day he'd come home and John would have those infernal magazines crumpled in one angry fist; the memory of so many nightmares about just that made Dean's skin crawl.

And those months sneaking around with Benny, telling Dad and Sam and everyone else that they were just good friends, nothing else; those moments of happiness he'd shared with him and the guilt he'd felt about it after...He hated feeling guilty for being happy, but Dad could never know. Nobody could ever know.

He remembered the fear that had clutched him deep in his gut when he'd seen Dad start to piece it together, start to figure it out, that he and Benny were more than what he claimed. He couldn't stand the sight of that slow realization on his face, had to tamp it down once and for all so that he would never have to see it again. Dad could never know. Sam could never know. Nobody could ever know.

And yet, Cas knew, and didn't care. And Jo knew, and didn't care. But that tiny voice inside his head wouldn't stop reminding him, over and over again, that it didn't matter. Cas and Jo were one thing, but others? The more people knew, the easier it would be for Dad to put two and two together, even with a mind ravaged by alcohol and grief, and the moment that happened, Dean was convinced that everything would come crashing down on him.

"Know what?" Nurse Moseley was saying, softly. "Dean?"

The scar on Dean's right side ached so badly that he could still almost feel the shape of the belt buckle on his skin.

"My dad can't find out...about Cas," he forced out. "Please...he can't know. I don't want...anyone to know..."

Realization passed over Nurse Moseley's face, a different kind than the one that fill Dean with dread, but it was similar enough that it made him feel queasy and trapped. "I'm not going to tell anyone anything, Dean. You understand?"

Slowly, he nodded.

He barely said another word as she gave him a packet of Tylenol and a paper cup. He threw both away the moment the door closed behind him. He'd take the ache in his cheek over the one in his chest, and the pills would only get rid of one of them.

Detention wasn't bad. Dean had experienced his share before, of course. There were worse fates than sitting in a quiet room for an hour.

It was just him and Balthazar; Dean was convinced that Michael had put them in Gabriel's classroom just to spite his younger brother, instead of lumping them in with anyone else who happened to be serving detention after school that day in another room. Gabriel didn't seem to mind that much, though. His feet were propped up on his desk as he thumbed through a _Better Homes and Gardens_  magazine.

Dean sat in the back, while Balthazar was hunched over a few rows up, one finger toying with the faucet built into the lab bench and his legs knocking rhythmically against the legs of the tall stool. The only sound – after the hum of students leaving and the rumble of buses pulling out of the parking lot had died down – was the ticking of the clock and the occasional rustle of the trees scratching against the window thanks to the wind.

Forty minutes in, Gabriel folded his legs down off of the desk, putting his magazine down flat and getting up. "I'm gonna run to the bathroom," he said. "Maybe grab a cup of whatever poor excuse for coffee they have in the teacher's lounge." He leaned back through the door before leaving and added, "No talking," in a tone that suggested he would actually encourage doing just the opposite.

Balthazar didn't exactly jump on the hinted opportunity when the door was closed and they were alone. He barely moved, turning the nozzle on the faucet just enough so that a slow dribble of water poured out, then turning the flow off again.

"Thanks for the bruise," Dean said with little sarcasm in his tone. Balthazar let out a huff and said nothing. Dean sighed. "Look...I'm sorry, alright?" Balthazar stayed silent, as if Dean had never spoken. "I said I'm sorry."

"Yes," Balthazar finally said, not turning toward him. "You did. Twice. Good for you."

Dean let out a frustrated breath and slouched back in his seat, leaning to one side and letting his head rest against the wall. "Is he okay?" he asked quietly, wondering whether or not Balthazar had actually heard him. "Cas, I mean..."

"Oh, he's perfectly fine. One of the only people in this school who he thought he could actually trust on some meaningful level humiliated him in a way he never thought you would." He huffed angrily. "Do you know how often he gets called a freak? It might just be a harmless word to you, but to him it's very real. He's heard it his whole life, heard people call him a freak, or crazy, or whatever the hell else they can think of. He learned to expect it, learned to ignore it, but I think those words got to him after a while. They must, don't you think? No matter how much you want to pretend it doesn't matter, sooner or later, something sticks. And when it does, it gets harder and harder to let those words go."

Balthazar finally turned toward him, glaring as he massaged his knuckles. "He could handle things like that from everyone else, because they didn't matter to him the same way that you did. But hearing it from you...I think it hit him harder than even he realized right away."

Dean stared at him blankly. "I'm not the end-all be-all to him. I'm not-"

"Not that important?" Balthazar asked. "I suppose you think little enough of yourself to believe that. But trust me, Dean, you're important. Not that you deserve an ounce of any of it."

"I'm just one guy," Dean pressed, almost desperately. "He'll...he'll get over me."

"Like he got over his father leaving? He told you about that, didn't he? How his own dad left without a word when he was just a baby? Or how about how his sister went to France when he was trying to pick himself up after the breakdown of the century? Oh, that wasn't her fault, of course. She couldn't have known what was happening in her little brother's head, but he needed her just the same, even if he never told her. Didn't want to make her feel guilty, I suppose. And then there's Charlie, gone off to the West Coast when he was just starting to think that maybe it was safe to open up again. Then suddenly he's suspended for beating up one of the lowest of low-lifes in this school, and before he knows what's happening he's pegged as a social pariah and the problem child he never wanted to be.

"And on top of all that, you still choose your own meager social status over him. Think about it from his point of view, if you have the mental capacity, Dean. One of the first people he trusted in this place, and you shoved him away like he was nothing. Treated him like dirt, even. Spat in his face and called him a _freak._ "

"I didn't-"

"I don't _care_  if you didn't mean it," Balthazar spat. His shoulders rounded, his face growing tired as the anger ebbed and left exhaustion and hurt in its place. "You did it. That's what matters. And no matter how little you might think of me, Cas is still my friend. He was my friend first, though I never thought I'd be so petty as to try and play that card."

Balthazar was silent for a long moment before saying, "You can stay in the closet for as long as you like. I don't care. And even Cas would understand, as much as it would hurt him. But instead, you cost yourself a friend. And I think you might have cost me mine in the same breath..."

His voice broke, just slightly, and he grew quiet again, silently massaging his hand. Dean could barely breathe, his own fingers trailing over his aching cheek.

Castiel returned to school the next day, and at first, Dean was relieved beyond measure. But as he approached, watching Castiel silently move his books from his locker to his backpack, his stomach dropped to his feet; something was different in Castiel's eyes, muted and tired where they had once been more vibrant. He wanted so badly to say something, to apologize somehow, but the words wouldn't come.

He took a few steps toward him, hoping that when the time came, he would just somehow know what to say, but Castiel slammed his locker closed without sparing a glance his way and stalked down the hall. Dean swallowed back the urge to call after him, stopping by his locker, and a cold hand gripped his heart through his ribs when he saw the word _FREAK_  scrawled in jagged letters across the front of it.

Castiel sat in silence in biology, Dean sitting in the back and watching him instead of taking notes. He didn't raise his hand once throughout the period, his pen barely moving over his paper, as if he was functioning on autopilot.

On the way out the door, someone in the passing crowd smacked Castiel's books off the side of the lab bench, and they scattered all over the floor. Castiel looked down at them expressionlessly before bending over to gather them. Dean was out the door by then, guilt gnawing at his insides.

At lunch, Dean barely ate. Jo sat with him, but said nothing when her attempts to start conversation went ignored. She frowned down at her plate and picked at her food.

Dean didn't have to look up to know that Castiel was at his usual spot, by the window. He saw him, out of the corner of his eye, as Castiel got up to take his tray to the dish return. Halfway there, three guys tripped him from behind, and he pitched forward, his food spilling over the tile as they laughed.

"Back up, back up!" one of them cackled, "Or he might knock your lights out!"

Castiel didn't, though. He picked himself up and wiped himself off, barely even looking up as he took his dishes to the return window. Balthazar went to him, putting a hand on his shoulder, but Castiel shrugged it off, saying something under his breath that Dean couldn't make out, and left. Balthazar was left watching him go, his eyes clouded over with pain.

Castiel wasn't in English class, and Dean worried the whole period, making a fool of himself each of the three times that Crowley called on him. The last two times, Dean was sure he was just trying to embarrass him, but he found himself not caring as much as he would have before. His mind was still elsewhere, and if Crowley wanted to dock his grade for it, let let the bastard do it.

The last he saw of Castiel was a vague glimpse of him slipping past the crowd after school, heading toward the parking lot. He was gone by the time Dean got there.

As Dean watched Castiel's Sedan pull out of the lot, he made a decision. He had to talk to him, even if Castiel just wanted to curse him out and tell him to get lost, he had to say something.

That evening, after he'd picked up Sam from school and made sure he got some dinner in him, Dean took the Impala and drove the semi-familiar route to Castiel's house. It took him a while to find it, and it was already dark by the time he did. The lights were on inside, and he hoped that maybe one of the ones upstairs was Castiel's.

He took out his phone, dialed his number. It rang, and rang, and rang, and then went to voicemail. He hung up.

What could he say? How could he apologize for what he had done? How could he put it into words? How could he even begin?

He dialed again. It rang eight times before going to voice mail, and once more, he ended the call.

He had to say something, anything. Maybe it was best not to think. Maybe it was better to just open his mouth and let whatever might make its way out of his frazzled mind go. It was better than silence anyway.

For a third time, he dialed, and when it went to voice mail this time, he took a deep breath, waited for the beep.

"Hey Cas..." he began. It seemed the only natural place to start. "Look, I know you probably don't want to hear my voice right now, but...I got something I have to say, alright? So just...just don't hang up, okay? Just hear me out, and then you can delete this or do whatever you have to...

"Alright...here goes..." He could think of only one thing to say, and it sounded ridiculous, but he had to say it. "I don't want to lose you, man."

No going back. There was no way to take the words back again after he'd said them. It was strangely liberating, having no filter, no backspace. It felt like a purge that was long overdue. "I know I fucked up...I fucked up bad." He let out a bitter, humorless laugh at that. "I'm sorry, alright? God, it sounds so damn insignificant, but I mean it...I'm sorry...

"I was scared, Cas. Hell, I'm still scared. Thing is, I don't even know what the hell I'm scared of. I'm sick of it, being afraid. I hate it. God, I hate it so damn much...I'm scared of my dad finding out that I'm not the son he wanted. I'm scared of what he'll do. I'm scared of letting Sammy down or...or of anything happening to him if I ever leave...I'm scared of fucking this up, Cas...whatever it is, between us...whatever it might have been if I wasn't so damn thick. I'm scared of how much I wanted it...how much I still want it..."

He leaned forward, rested his head on the steering wheel. "Hell, it feels like I always do something to screw up any friendship I'm lucky enough to have. Any relationship at all, really. I mean...my freshman year, I had nobody, you know? Not a single damn person. I mean, look at me, Cas. I wear my dad's hand-me-down jacket even though it'll never fit me...I only listen to classic rock and I take apart old radios for fun. My only real friend back then was my kid brother. I got shoved against lockers, man. I got my head stuck in toilets and I got tossed into dumpsters. I wasn't a popular jock, Cas. I wasn't a popular anything.

"And that's when I met Chris...Christopher Alastair, just a sophomore and everybody was already fucking scared of him. I don't know what he saw in me, but we started hanging out. I hated him, Cas, but I thought...maybe if people were scared of me...I wouldn't get beat up on as much." His tone was bitter, the words tasting foul in his mouth as he said, "I turned the tables, Cas. I was Alastair's little project. By the end of my freshman year, I had most of the people in my class scared stiff of me. And I...I _liked_  it..."

His knuckles went white against the steering wheel, and he wondered if Castiel's voice mail was even still recording, but it didn't matter. He couldn't stop now. "I don't know how I realized what I was turning into...but when I did, it made me feel sick. I think Alastair figured he was wasting his time with me, but I still couldn't stop hanging around him. He was still the only person who got me, you know? As twisted as it is...But then I met up with Jo..." He did smile a bit at that. "She got me straight real fast, or rather her mom did. And toward the end of the year, I met Benny...and well...you know how that went...

"I didn't know what to do...I always thought I was straight, you know? I never thought I'd swing both ways. But...I don't know...I felt something for Jo, too. I really did. But I couldn't tell her the truth, so it never led to anything. But she was okay with it...never stopped smiling at me. I think maybe part of her always knew-"

An obnoxious beep cut him off, and he cursed as an automated voice told him to press some number if he wanted to leave another message. His fingers fumbled with the buttons, numb as he clumsily ended the call and scrolled through his contacts again for Castiel's number. It rang, rang, and rang again, over and over until he finally heard the beep.

"Sorry..." he said. "I don't even know if you're listening anymore. I just...I have to talk, Cas. I need to talk to you, not to some fucking machine. I...I need you, alright? And it took me a long fucking time to realize it, but I do. For the first time in years, I don't need Alastair, and I can't tell you how good that feels...I don't feel scared around you, Cas...I'm tired of being scared...I'm tired of being lonely...Fuck, I'm so goddamn lonely sometimes..."

He drew a shaking breath and continued, "But not around you...I don't know how you do it, Cas, but you help me...And if you want to tell me to fuck off, if you can't find a way to...to forgive me for all the shit I pulled...I'll be okay...but I really don't want to be, Cas...I can make it without you, but I really don't want to..."

He felt exhausted, like he'd just run a mile, and he rested his head back against the back of the seat. "That's it, I guess...that's all I wanted to say...So just...call me back, or...or come talk to me...Just talk to me, Cas...even if it's just to throw a punch or curse me out...come talk to me...please."

There was nothing else to say, so with a shaking hand, he ended the call, on his own terms this time. He tossed his phone into the passenger's seat and slammed his hands against the steering wheel, tears prickling at his eyes. He let one fall, just one, before wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and covering his face with his palms.

He didn't know how long he sat there, swimming in his own thoughts, but the sound of a door slamming made him look up. Castiel strode down his front steps, getting into his car and backing out of the driveway, screeching down the road.

He couldn't say what it was, but something uneasy settled in Dean's gut, and before he realized what he was even doing, he put his car into gear and turned around, following Castiel down the street.

They took turn after turn, Dean staying a few car lengths back so that Cas wouldn't notice him, and finally, the Sedan pulled into a field, a few blocks down from Kripke Middle. It was empty, nothing but grass and an empty parking lot on one side, trees on the other. Castiel parked his car haphazardly in the mud and got out, dragging his feet as he walked to the middle of the empty green.

Furrowing his brow, Dean stared through the windshield, but when something metallic caught Dean's eye, glinting in the moonlight, his heart leaped behind his ribs, and his hands shook as he fumbled to get out of the car.

He was running by the time he saw the gun against Castiel's temple.

" _Castiel!_ " His name ripped itself from his throat, and Castiel turned, eyes wide, gun still pressed to his skin. Dean's hands were on him, wrestling the weapon away.

A shot rang out, echoing across the field. Dean felt hot blood spatter against his arm, and his world snapped abruptly to black.


	8. Chapter 8

He didn't realize he was shaking until he looked down at his hand as they removed his bloody clothes. It was the first thing he could remember in the blur that was that evening. There were vague flashes: leaving the house, driving at least ten miles over the speed limit without even knowing where exactly he was going, staggering out of the car and over grass, a shout, a loud bang and the warm spatter of blood.

He sat numbly on the emergency room bed, paper crinkling under his legs with every movement as the nurse – her name was Jody – helped out of his clothes and into a hospital gown. "This is just temporary. Don't worry," she told him. "Are you on any medications?"

"No," he replied softly, the voice sounding nothing like his own.

"Have you ever harmed yourself before? Cuts, burns, made yourself sick?"

"No."

His hands were still shaking, and she placed hers on top of them. Her palms were warm and soft. "Do you still feel like hurting yourself, Castiel?"

"No." Though he did wish he could shake his past self by the shoulders and scream until he realized the idiocy of what he had done. He looked up at Jody, desperately. "Where's Dean?"

She furrowed her brow in confusion. "Dean?"

"He...he was with me...He stopped me...I think..." It was all so hazy that he could barely make it out, but Dean had definitely been there, screaming his name. "There was blood..." he continued, looking down at where the stain of it was still slightly pink on his arms. "But...but it's not mine, is it? I...please...tell me he's alright..."

Jody bent down in front of him, her hand on his arm, as she wiped away the rest of the bloodstain from his skin. He watched as it stained the cloth instead, leaving his arm clean. "Just worry about yourself now." She paused a moment before asking, gently, "Where did you get the gun?"

"It was my father's," he answered, barely aware of his own words as they tripped past his tongue. "He didn't take it when he left. My mother kept it in a locked box back in her closet. I think she always intended to get rid of it, but she never got around to it. I didn't even know...if it would still work...But the lock was old. I don't even think she knew it was broken."

Jody nodded solemnly. He said no more except to answer a few more of her questions, offering his arm silently when she drew blood and sitting with his hands folded in his lap as she examined him. After what seemed like an eternity, he asked, quietly, "I'll be in a psych ward, won't I?"

Jody pursed her lips, regarding him sympathetically. "For seventy-two hours. After that, it'll be up to you whether you stay any longer. Well, up to your mother, since you're technically still a minor."

He slouched, a soft, "Okay," passing between his lips. Jody sat across from him on a padded stool, hand on his shoulder until he looked up at her. "She's here. Would you like to see her?"

"My mother?" Castiel croaked. Jody nodded. "I don't know..." He glanced uneasily at the security guard standing just beyond the curtain, and Jody placed two fingers on the side of his jaw and gently nudged his face to look at her again.

"She just wants to know you're okay, Castiel. And it'll be a little bit of a wait until we can transfer you, so you may as well talk to her."

Slowly, Castiel nodded, and she smiled. "Alright, Castiel. I'll go get her." She started to stand, but he grabbed her arm as she did, and she looked back down at him questioningly.

"Could you please call me Cas?" he asked.

"Alright," she said after a moment. "Cas."

After she'd gone, Castiel scooted back on the cot, holding his legs to his chest. His whole body ached, despite the fact that he hadn't hurt himself. His mind raced as he wondered about Dean. Why couldn't he remember what had happened? Why couldn't he tell if he was alright or not? There had been blood, Dean's blood, so he had to be here, somewhere in the ER, but Castiel hadn't been allowed out of this area, and he couldn't see much beyond the half-drawn curtain and the security guard standing by it.

It made him feel dizzy and sick, thinking back on what he had done. He remembered his heart racing, his breath coming in shallow, gasping bursts as he'd listened to Dean's messages, and suddenly everything had started spinning. He'd ignored his mother's insistent questions about where he thought he was going, didn't have any answers for her anyway. She'd been screaming at him by the time he'd made it out the door, but he'd barely heard; her voice had seemed distant and muffled.

It had been like someone else had been controlling him, like his body had not been his own. The hands on the steering wheel had been foreign to him, somehow numb, but still eerily deft as he'd loaded the gun and-

The curtain moved back, and Castiel looked up, suddenly meeting his mother's eyes. Naomi stepped forward silently, shoes clacking on the tile floor. She sat on the cot next to him, reached out to put a hand on his arm, like she couldn't believe he was real.

His ribs felt as though they'd collapsed in on his lungs when he saw the tears in her eyes. "I was just trying to protect you," she said, and she sounded nothing like his stern, authoritative mother. She sounded like a frightened girl, trying desperately to maintain her composure. "That was all I ever wanted to do. I guess I didn't do as well as I'd hoped."

The tears in her eyes never fell, but Castiel stared at them anyway. "It's not your fault," he found himself saying.

"I'm your mother," she told him with a wan smile. "Just let it be my fault for a little while."

Slowly, he nodded, letting her cup his face in her hand. "I'm s-"

"No apologies, Castiel," she said. "I don't want to hear them. And later, if you want to talk, I'll listen." Again, he nodded, and she pulled away. "Balthazar is still in the waiting room. He'd really like to see you. And I'll have to call Anna-"

"Let me," Castiel said, and his mother looked at him questioningly. "I'd like...to tell her...if I could."

She pursed her lips, seeming to want to warn against it, but after letting out a slow breath, she relented, "Alright..."

When she hugged him, she was stiff, so much so that she was almost shaking. Castiel didn't move, didn't put his arms around her. It wasn't that he didn't want to, but they felt heavy by his sides, unwilling to move.

He didn't know how long they stayed like that, and even after his mother pulled away, they sat together in silence for what felt like a long time. Her arm stayed wrapped around his shoulder, protective and soothing. It had been so long since his mother had been a source of comfort that he'd almost forgotten she could be. But he found himself leaning into the warmth now, letting himself be held.

"Balthazar is upset," she said plainly, and Castiel nodded. "I don't see why he wouldn't be, of course. I don't think he'll calm down until he sees you for himself."

Again, Castiel nodded, not saying a word as she got up.

When she was gone, Castiel watched the curtain, waiting for Balthazar to show himself. He had no idea what he would say; he still couldn't get it through his head that his mother had been so...unlike herself. If anything, he had thought that she would be disappointed. Maybe he'd misunderstood her for longer than he thought possible.

He hadn't had his phone with him when he'd left the house, so he had no idea how he was going to call Anna. He didn't know what he would say when it came right down to it. He didn't even know what he would say to Balthazar when he showed up. What could he say at a time like this? That he was sorry? That he would never do it again? That he'd made a mistake? All of them were true, but none of them felt like the right things to say.

The curtain was practically thrown open, and Castiel sat up straighter when he saw Balthazar. His friend merely stood there, staring, eyes wide and the muscles in his jaw working silently, tensing and relaxing but not letting out any words.

"Cassie..." he breathed, and then his face crumpled.

He stumbled forward, and before Castiel even knew what was happening, Balthazar's arms were tight around him, fingers pressing desperately against his flesh through the hospital gown. " _Vous êtes un idiot. Pourquoi voudriez-vous faire quelque chose comme ça? Pourquoi le feriez-vous? Vous idiot._.."

It took Castiel a long couple of moments to realize that Balthazar was crying, sobbing against his chest, and tentatively, he reached up to run his hands up his friend's back. "I don't understand what you're saying..." he admitted.

" _Oh, bien sûr, vous ne comprenez pas. Imbécile._ " His tone was almost a fond one, and he pulled back, wiping his eyes. He forced himself to smile, but it just made him look tired, and Castiel didn't like it. "You should really work on that."

"I know," Castiel said, and Balthazar leaned forward again, pressing his forehead to Castiel's shoulder. "Bal...it's okay...I'm okay..."

"Look at you, Cassie...you're the one in the hospital bed, and yet here you are comforting _me._ " Balthazar chuckled a bit, tiredly, and this time, his smile was more genuine. It actually made Castiel feel a little better. It faltered after a painfully short moment, and he asked, desperately, "Why didn't you tell me...I could've done something, couldn't I? Why didn't you just say something, Cas? Why didn't you just tell me?"

"I don't know," Castiel admitted. At least it was the truth. Balthazar sighed.

"Never do that again, Cas," he said, firmly. "Never. Don't you dare ever do that to me again. _Ne jamais faire ça à moi._ "

"I won't."

"Promise."

"I-" Castiel paused. "How do I say it in French?"

Balthazar's smile this time was the most genuine yet, and Castiel found it infectious. " _Je promets,_ " he told him.

" _Je promets,_ " Castiel repeated, and he knew his accent was terrible, but Balthazar didn't seem to mind.

The psychiatric ward wasn't nearly as bad as Castiel had thought it would be. The room was small, drawing from a color palette of soft pastels and whites. There was a large window to the right of the neatly made bed, looking out over the parking lot; it was a better view than nothing, at least. He drew the off-white curtains as he dressed himself in the soft gray sweatpants and cotton shirt they gave him. They were comfortable, once he'd had the chance to adjust to the feeling of them on his skin.

"Comfortable?" the nurse asked him once he was done. She was a quiet woman who rarely smiled, but spoke kindly. Tessa was what she'd told him to call her. He thought it fit her.

"Tired," Castiel said. It was the truth; it was nearly midnight now. He'd had to wait several hours before being transferred, but he hadn't minded too much. All that time, his mind had wandered over and over to Dean. He hadn't seen him once in the ER, and occasionally all his uncertainty made it hard to breathe. Castiel wracked his brain, commanded it to remember what it couldn't possibly recall, if only so that he could reassure himself that Dean was alright.

"I'll bet," Tessa said. "It's been a very long day." He nodded. "You can get some sleep before too long, I promise. You'll see Dr. Fitzgerald in the morning, bright and early."

"Do you know if Dean's alright?"

Tessa seemed a bit taken aback. "Dean?"

"He was with me...when I..." He trailed off. "Please...is he okay?"

"I'm a psychiatric ward nurse, Castiel. You're the only patient I'm focused on right now." She put a hand on his arm. "It will be alright, Castiel."

He sat on the edge of the bed and nodded, eyes heavy, but there was something more he needed to do before he let himself sleep. He looked up at Tessa. "Can I make a phone call?"

"This late?"

"Please...it's my sister. She's in France. It's almost seven o'clock there. I need to talk to her."

Tessa thought it over a moment before finally saying, "Alright. You can come to the nurse's station. You won't get much privacy, though, I'm afraid."

"It's alright," Castiel assured her, standing. "I understand. I don't have anything to hide anyway."

There were two other people at the nurse's station when he and Tessa got there: a man with dark brown hair and a pointed nose, and a blonde woman, both of them in nurse's scrubs. "Hester, Inias," Tessa said, "Need the phone for a second."

"Now?" the man – Castiel assumed he was Inias – asked, his hand reaching for the receiver.

"Now," Tessa told him. "Why don't you go check on Fred in room 205? I think he might be having trouble sleeping, and I want to make sure he got his meds."

Inias stood with a sigh, heading down the hall, a ring of keys jingling at his hip. Next, Tessa turned to the woman. "Hester," she said, "I need those patient files from the storage room. Could you grab them for me?" Hester nodded, if a bit reluctantly, and got up to go as well.

Tessa gestured for Castiel to sit down in the chair by the phone, picked up the receiver and pressed a couple of buttons before handing it to him. "Thank you," he said, for both the phone and the relative privacy.

"Just be as quick as you can, alright? It's past your bedtime." She patted him on the shoulder, sitting a few feet away and busying herself at the computer, glancing over at him every few moments as he dialed.

It rang, and rang, and rang, and Castiel worried for a moment that Anna wouldn't pick up. This wasn't something he wanted to tell her via a voice mail. But he didn't know when he'd get another chance to use the phone, and he didn't want to put this off. He wanted her to hear it from him, not from anyone else. His heart pounded uncomfortably quick as he waited.

Finally, he heard a click, and a tired, "Hello?" He breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Anna," he said. "It's Castiel."

"Castiel?" Anna said, audibly perking up a bit. "Are you borrowing someone's phone? I didn't recognize the number."

"Sort of," Castiel admitted. "I'm...well, I'm in the hospital."

"What? Castiel, what happened? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Anna, I'm fine, I promise. But I..." He swallowed, thickly. "Anna, I did something stupid...I just...I need you to promise you'll stay calm, alright?"

"What is that supposed to mean? What the hell happened?"

"Just...promise, okay?"

After a long pause and a deep sigh, she said, "Okay."

He didn't know how to say it. There was nothing he could say, he knew, that would make it easier to bear. So he decided that just coming out with it was best. He took a breath and said, "I tried to kill myself."

"Oh my god," Anna breathed into the phone, her voice breaking. "Oh god...Castiel..."

"Anna-"

"Castiel, oh my _god._  Wha...when?"

"Earlier tonight," he said. "Anna, it's okay."

"How could it be okay, Castiel? You tried to-" She fell silent, fighting back tears. He could hear them in her voice. "I...why?"

"I don't know...It was...everything just...happened at once and...I don't know..."

"Castiel..."

"But I'm alright, I promise. I'm...getting better. I'll be okay."

"Cas...god, Cas..."

"Please don't cry, Anna," he pleaded. He heard her take a long, shaky breath.

"You get better, okay?" she said firmly.

"I will."

"And you call me whenever you can."

"Alright."

"I'll be home in a few weeks for Christmas. And we'll sit down and talk, if you want. Whatever you need."

"I'd like that," he said, with a slight, tired smile.

"I love you, little brother."

"I love you too."

"Do you need anything? I mean...do you need to talk? I can be late to school, or..."

"No. No, I'm alright. I promise I'm alright. I need to sleep. That's all I need."

"Okay..." Anna relented. "You sleep then."

"I'll see you soon."

"Yeah you will," she said adamantly.

"I'm going to hang up now...okay?"

She took a moment to answer, "Okay." Her voice was small. "Bye, Castiel."

He couldn't make himself say goodbye himself, so he just stayed silent. It took him a moment to manage to put the phone down, and he didn't realize he was crying until Tessa handed him a tissue. He took it and blew his nose. "I'd like to go to bed," he said.

"Good idea," she told him with a small smile.

She led him back to his room, and he was asleep within moments of his head hitting the pillow.

Castiel liked Dr. Fitzgerald. He was a skinny man with large ears and a fuzzy brown goatee and a sock puppet propped up on the bookshelf behind him. It stared at him with blue button eyes.

They spoke for what felt like a long time, and Castiel answered all the questions he'd answered a hundred times already, it seemed, all over again. His answers didn't change much: Did he feel like hurting himself? No. Did he sleep alright? Yes. Why did he try to kill himself before? I don't know. Do you think you're going to do it again? No.

Castiel did spend time in the common room with some of the other patients. He didn't like it much; they made him feel uncomfortable more often than not, but it was better than staying in his room alone. He did meet a few that he liked, though: Ruby, who said that she had demon blood in her; Mitt, who was always writing what he claimed was the Word of God down on every scrap of paper he could find; Alfie, who told everyone to call him Samandriel and quietly claimed to be an angel of the Lord; Frank, who was convinced that the government had hidden spy cameras set up everywhere to watch their every move.

Of all of them, Castiel liked Alfie the best. He was a bit shy, but he was always kind when Castiel talked to him, and he was fascinated by Castiel's name. "It means Shield of God. Did you know that?" Alfie told him after Castiel had introduced himself. That made Castiel smile a bit.

All day, he waited for word about Dean, perking up whenever one of the nurses came into the room, but over and over, he was disappointed. He kept to himself and his thoughts, wondering how long he'd have to wait before someone would take pity on him and tell him what he wanted to know. Maybe he could use the phone again. He silently cursed himself when he realized he'd neglected to memorize Dean's number. But someone had to know. Someone had to be able to answer his questions and put his mind at ease. If they did, nobody came forward.

That evening, after dinner, Castiel did go back to his room. He relished the quiet, and his new meds made him feel groggy. It was around six-thirty, and he was watching the street lights flicker on outside when there was a knock on his door.

"Castiel?" the orderly outside called. "You have a visitor."

"Okay," he replied, sitting on the edge of his bed and rubbing his eyes to try and wake himself up a bit. When he looked up again, Dean was standing in the doorway, and he froze.

"Hey, Cas," Dean greeted shyly, looking unsure as to whether or not he was supposed to come further into the room.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel said, the words rushing out on a heavy breath that left him feeling heavy and more tired than before. He rested his hands stiffly on his knees. "You can come in. Sit down if you want."

Dean shuffled uncomfortably. There was nowhere to sit aside from the bed. He stayed standing instead, scratching the back of his neck. "It's okay...Look, Cas, I-"

"Thank you," Castiel blurted.

"What?"

"For...stopping me," he clarified awkwardly. "I...I don't know what...I just...thank you..." He rubbed his hands over his thighs. "Are you...alright? There was blood, and..."

"Oh, yeah, Cas...I'm okay." Dean grinned hesitantly, reaching up and pulling at the collar of his shirt with a slight wince. There was a thick bandage on his shoulder. "It's not nearly as bad as it looks."

Castiel felt his face go pale. "I...shot you?"

"It's okay, Cas."

"I _shot_  you..." Castiel repeated. He felt sick. Dean took a few more steps toward him.

"It barely grazed me, Cas. Really, it's okay. I'd do it again."

Castiel breathed out, slowly, unable to look at him. He curled his fingers against his legs until he felt Dean's hand on his arm. "Cas...perspective?" When he looked up, Dean was smiling at him, and even though it looked like it took a fair amount of effort, Castiel felt just the tiniest sliver of guilt wane.

Dean stood up straight, leaning against the wall and letting out a long sigh. "So...how are you...I mean...how're you feeling?"

Castiel shrugged. "Not suicidal, if that's what you're asking," he said.

"Well that's...good...I guess...I mean, it is. It's great, Cas. But why...I mean...why did you..."

"Why did I do it?"

Dean looked almost hurt. "Yeah." Castiel looked back down at his feet again.

"I just...after everything that happened...I guess it just...got to me..."

It took Dean a long time to get his next question out, and when he did, Castiel wasn't surprised: "Was it because of me?"

"Yes," he said. "And no." He twiddled his thumbs in his lap. "It was just...everything...including you."

Dean took a deep breath. "Can you forgive me?"

A bitter laugh punched its way out of Castiel's throat. "I shot you while you were trying to save my life," he said. "And yet you're still asking for forgiveness."

"It's not about us being even, Cas," Dean told him quietly. "I did some stupid shit, and so did you." He looked down at his shoes. "Guess you're not the only one who needs help, huh?"

"There's no shame in it," Castiel told him. "In...admitting that you need it, I mean."

"Nah...I know there isn't...I just...Cas, just tell me...taking everything else out of the equation, can you forgive me for calling you a..." He stopped short, seeming hesitant to say the word again. "You know..."

"A freak?" Castiel offered. The word didn't sting. It had no power here.

"Yeah."

Castiel smiled at him, small and almost shy. "I'm not really in any condition to forgive anyone right now," he said. It didn't seem to be the answer Dean had been hoping for. Castiel stood, waiting for Dean to look at him and then saying, "Ask me again when I'm home? After I've gotten all this..." He gestured at his own head, tiredly. "...sorted out?"

After a moment, Dean nodded. "I can do that."

Castiel waited a moment, wondering what he was meant to do or say next, and then finally threw his arms around Dean's torso, pulling him close and pressing his nose to the crook of Dean's neck. Dean stiffened, sucking in a breath. "Thank you...again..." Castiel mumbled against his skin. Dean's hand ghosted up over Castiel's shoulder blades, jaw pressing against his temple.

"It's nothing, Cas," he said. The exact opposite was true, in fact, and Castiel was sure that they both knew it well.

"How long will you be in here?" Dean said after Castiel had pulled away, both of them leaning against the wall.

Again, Castiel shrugged. "Three days at least. After that...I'm not sure." He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Do people know? At school?"

"I think the teachers do. None of them have said anything, but Gabriel looked like he didn't sleep at all last night. Chugged a whole thermos of coffee during class." He rolled his shoulder, wincing a little. "I haven't heard anyone talking, though. Is there...anything you want me to say? You know, if people do? Cause they'll probably get it wrong if rumors start spreading. It's like a giant game of telephone, and next thing you know, you had a psychotic break and robbed a liquor store or something."

"Just...tell them the truth," Castiel said.

"You sure?"

"Well, don't spread it around, but if you hear people talking, just...set them straight. You're right...word is going to get out, and if people have to hear something, I'd rather it be the truth."

"Yeah, okay..."

"And Dean...one more thing?" Dean turned to face him, their noses almost brushing.

"Could you...talk to Charlie for me? Let her know I'm alright? I don't want her to worry."

"Sure, Cas," Dean said, softly, and Castiel managed a smile.

"Thank you."

They were so close, their hands barely nudging one another between their bodies, and when Dean smiled back at him, Castiel felt lighter than he had in days. His eyelids drooped a bit, and he swayed on his feet, just slightly. "You alright, Cas?" Dean asked lightheartedly, his voice tinged with just the tiniest bit of worry.

"Fine," Castiel told him. "My meds make me a little sleepy, that's all."

"Maybe you should get some rest then."

"Maybe I should..." Tentatively, Castiel reached up, trailing his fingers over Dean's injured shoulder. "That must hurt..."

"Like a bitch," Dean said. "I can handle it. They gave me a prescription for the pain, but...I don't really feel like I need it, you know?" He chuckled. "I'm a big strong guy. Pain, I can deal with."

Castiel sat down on his bed as Dean headed for the door. He paused by the threshold, looking back. "Cas?"

"Hm?"

"You're not a freak. You know that, right?"

Castiel smiled, looking down at his hands and then back up at Dean. "I sort of am," he said. "But there are worse things."

Dean smiled right back, and said simply, "Don't ever change," before heading out the door.

The next day, around seven-forty-five in the evening, there was another knock at his door. Castiel was just brushing his teeth when he heard it; that night's chicken had left a bad aftertaste in his mouth, and though his meds weren't making him so woozy today, he'd been up so early that morning that he was already fading. He spat into the sink and rinsed his toothbrush before coming out of the bathroom just as the door was opening.

"Visitor," the orderly said. "You're popular, aren't you?"

Chuck didn't seem to know what to do with himself as he stepped through the door, a haphazardly wrapped package in his hands. He looked agonizingly sad as he locked eyes with Castiel, fingers tensing and relaxing over the paper. "You look like you're doing better," he said. "How are you feeling? Okay?"

"What are you doing here?" Castiel asked, but there was no bitterness in his tone. Chuck looked down at the object in his hands and let out a hesitant half-laugh.

"Naomi called me. Told me what...what happened. Are you...I mean, are you..."

Castiel took pity on him, and opened his mouth to speak to stop his fumbling for the right word. He wanted to say, "I'm fine," but he couldn't find the energy to lie, so he merely said, "I'm...getting better."

"Good," Chuck breathed. "That's good." A ghost of a smile tugged on his stubble-covered lips. "I guess...I'm probably the last person you wanted to come see you, aren't I? It's okay. You can be honest. I don't mind. And I guess I owe you the chance to rip me a new one." He scratched the back of his neck.

Castiel was still confused. This man before him was his father, the source of half his DNA, and yet Castiel was as unlike him as he was Naomi. Chuck was a stranger to him. Castiel had filled in more gaps in his knowledge of his own father with childhood fantasies about spies and astronauts than he actually knew about his life. And yet, here he was, staring at him with blue eyes that Castiel could have sworn looked familiar. He'd seen the same ones staring back at him when he'd been in the bathroom before, looking in the mirror.

Oddest of all was the cool lack of anger. It had vanished without a trace. Castiel could barely remember what he'd felt when he'd seen Chuck for the first time, when he'd showed up at the school. Come to think of it, he hadn't even been able to name it then. Now it was nothing but a hazy memory, and he doubted he'd ever be able to identify all the emotions that had swirled around in his head that day.

"I'm not mad," he said, softly, and Chuck looked genuinely surprised.

"Seriously?" he asked in a squeaky voice. "You're not?"

"No." Chuck let out a soft, relieved sounding laugh.

"Wow...alright."

"I'm just...confused."

"Yeah...me too, I think..."

After a long silence, Castiel asked, "Why did you leave?" Chuck's gaze snapped up to Castiel's face again.

"What?"

"Why did you leave?"

"You mean...back when you were a baby?" Castiel nodded. "It...it's sort of complicated."

"My life is the very definition of complicated," Castiel said. He sat on the bed and folded his knees up to his chest, hugging them close as his heels dug into the mattress. "I'm used to it. So tell me. Why did you leave?"

"I...ah..." Chuck let out a long sigh and let himself slide down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, looking up at Castiel. "Okay...I'll tell you...But it's not going to sound like a good reason. It never did to me."

"Tell me anyway."

Chuck picked at an errant thread on his sleeve, the sloppily wrapped package resting by his feet. "I guess it started right after Anna was born. For a while, everything was going great. I liked being a father. I really did...But...Naomi got pregnant again a few months after Anna came along, and everything was just going so fast, and...I was trying to write a new book. It wasn't going well. I was drinking more than I should have been and I..." He hung his head. "I don't know...It was like I was in a car speeding down the freeway at a hundred miles per hour without brakes. Naomi and I were fighting all the time and Anna cried every time I held her and...I just didn't know what to do.

"Then you finally came along..." Chuck smiled fondly at that. "I can remember holding you...cause I was there when you were born, of course. God, you never cried. It was kind of creepy, the way you just stared everyone into submission." He chuckled, running a hand through his unkempt hair. His smile faded. "But I looked at you, and...and suddenly I just got scared. Cause you and Anna...you were these amazing, beautiful kids, _my_  kids, and I was sure that I was going to screw it up...Cause I'd seen what happened before, and I thought...what's to stop that from happening again? I figured...I figured you would be better off...without me..."

He fell silent, and Castiel could only stare. "You ran away," he said softly. "Because you were scared..."

"I told you it wasn't a good reason," Chuck said. "I think that's why Naomi can be hard on you sometimes. She was always kind of a control freak. I actually sort of used to like that about her. Maybe it's egotistical, but I think after I left, she just...wanted to protect you. Because she couldn't protect you from the truth forever."

"What truth is that?" Castiel asked.

Chuck smiled sadly. "That you had kind of a shitty father."

Castiel let his feet down, folding his hands in his lap. "Okay..." he said.

"Okay?"

"That's one question down."

Chuck looked just the slightest bit intimidated. "How many you got?"

"At least one more." Chuck nodded. "Why did you come back?"

"I always sort of wanted to," he said with a shrug. "There were times I wanted to come see how you were doing, but I convinced myself that Naomi would never let me see you. I did send you a birthday card, though. You and Anna. Every year. You got those, right?"

Numbly, Castiel nodded. "Yes." Chuck seemed relieved to hear it.

"Good. Good...Anyway, ah...Well, when I sent the last one, back in June, I thought...wow...my son's practically a man, you know? And my daughter...my daughter's a woman. My kid's are almost all grown up. It was weird to think about. But I don't have the money to go to France...I moved out to Kansas City. Kinda hoped a change of scenery would do me some good, writing-wise. It didn't really, but it was worth a shot...

"Anyway, I just...I couldn't stop thinking about what you looked like, about what kind of person you were. Naomi and I had been talking on the phone for a while. I thought maybe before too long I could convince her to let me spend some time with you, and Anna too, when she came back. But I just...I had to see you, Castiel. Maybe it was stupid of me to try and talk to you without Naomi being okay with it first, but I just had to..."

"I never did tell her about that," Castiel said.

"Yeah...you might have saved my skin with that one," Chuck said with a nervous laugh. "She knows I'm here, though. Part of me can't believe it."

"And she's okay with it? With you visiting me?"

Chuck shrugged again. "I don't know what changed her mind. Well...maybe it was the...um...well...anyway...You uh...you have anymore questions?"

Castiel did. He had a million. But they swarmed around his skull like a thousand bees, not a single one of them landing on his tongue. So he shook his head, eying the package that Chuck had brought in oddly as his father picked himself up off the floor with a wince and gathered it in his hands again. Chuck looked down at it, suddenly seeming to remember that it was there, and he held it out to Castiel.

"Oh...I brought this for you. I wrapped it up, but...they had to check it before they'd let me bring it in. I couldn't find any tape to redo it." He shoved his hands into his pockets as Castiel took it. "Honestly, it doesn't look all that much worse than when I did it the first time, so...no big deal, right?"

Carefully, Castiel peeled back the paper, furrowing his brow in confusion as he looked at the cover of the manuscript in his hands. It was old, and torn in places, but it seemed rather well cared for behind a couple of pages missing their corners. He flipped through it, not reading, but just concentrating on the feel of the paper under his fingertips. "What is it?" he asked.

"It's my book. Or...it tried to be, anyway. I never did get it published. Nobody really wanted it. I started writing it...while Naomi was pregnant with you. Almost didn't go back to finish it after...well..." He trailed off. "But a few years ago, I got some steam going again. I worked at it for months, but it never went anywhere. Eventually, I just had to give up on it. I'm writing something new now, but that thing still kinda means a lot to me." He scratched his neck. "The main character is...named after you. Er...you're named after him. Well, it's kind of both. I settled on the name, Castiel, and really liked it, so I suggested it to Naomi for you and she really seemed to like it too. Never told her it was the name of the character, though. It means-"

"Shield of God," Castiel finished.

"Yeah," Chuck said, seeming surprised and impressed. "How did you..."

"Samandriel told me."

"Who?"

"Samandriel...Alfie. Someone I met here. He's good."

"Oh."

They fell silent after that, the only sound the rustling of pages until Chuck said, "It's my last copy." Castiel looked up at him. "That right there is the last one. I got rid of all the others. I'm moving on. But I wanted you to have it..."

"What should I do with it?"

"Read it, if you want. Or put it on a shelf to collect dust. Or use it to keep your desk level. Or shred it. Whatever you want to do. It's yours now." Castiel didn't say anything to that. Chuck edged up next to him, watching him study the title page and the table of contents.

"It's about an angel," he said absently. "A fallen angel. Er...he falls later on. Sorry...spoilers. He rescues a human from Hell, and they have to work together to stop the Apocalypse. And there's a little bit of a love story, too. I wasn't going to add that in, but the characters sometimes have a mind of their own, you know?"

"Yes..." Castiel murmured as he flipped through the pages. "I know..."

The door opened a crack again, and the orderly poked his head in. "Mr. Shurley," he called. "Visiting hours are over for the day. I'm going to need to ask you to-"

"Yeah, I gotta get going. I got it," Chuck said with a wave, and he turned toward Castiel again. "Well...goodbye for now, I guess. Thanks for not throwing me out." He extended a hesitant hand, and Castiel glanced down at it, and then slowly, he reached out and shook it. "Maybe we could talk again sometime. You know, when you're better. Or...or not, if you don't want to."

"I think I'd like that," Castiel said. Chuck's smile was wide and genuine.

"Great! Well, I...I better go." He turned toward the door. "Get better, okay?"

Castiel nodded. "I will." It certainly felt like the truth.

When Chuck had left, Castiel sat down on his bed and opened to the first page of chapter one of the manuscript: _Lazarus Rising._  He began to read.

Dean knocked on the front door of Castiel's house and waited, bouncing on the balls of his feet and shoving his hands into his armpits to shield them from the early December chill in the air. There was a muted shuffling on the other side of the door, and Dean's heart skipped nervously until it opened, revealing a red-headed young woman on the other side. She eyed Dean warily, one eyebrow cocked. "Can I help you?"

Dean blinked at her, not sure what to make of her, but suddenly it clicked, and he smiled, holding out a hand. "You've gotta be Anna, right? Cas's sister?"

She nodded. "And you're..."

"Dean," he said, tucking his hand back under his arm when she didn't take it. "Dean W-"

"Winchester," Anna finished, eyes going wide. " _You're_  Dean?"

"Yeah."

She paused a moment before punching him hard in the arm, and he clutched it, grimacing. "Ow!"

"Don't you ever even think of hurting my little brother again," she told him firmly. Dean rubbed his arm and stared at her. Fair enough, he thought, and bobbed his head to the side in resignation. After all, if someone had ever done to Sam what he had done to Castiel, Dean would have done the same. Probably much worse. He didn't have much time to think that over, though, before Anna was gathering him in her arms and holding him close.

"But you did save his life..." she breathed in his ear. "So thank you. Thank you..."

He was just trying to decide whether or not to hug her back when she let him go, but he didn't focus on her. Castiel had stopped halfway down the stairs just inside, their eyes meeting over Anna's shoulder. Anna looked back at her brother, smiling knowingly, and she turned toward Dean again. "Do you want to come in?" she asked. "It's freezing out."

"Yeah..." Dean breathed, and he shrugged off his coat once the door had closed behind him. Castiel had made it to the bottom of the steps by that point, and Dean couldn't take his eyes off of him. He looked so different from the last time Dean had seen him, in the psychiatric ward, even though their last visit had been just a few days before Castiel left to return home; he was practically glowing by comparison, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Hello, Dean," he said, and hell, even his voice sounded different. "I guess you met Anna."

"Damn right, he met me," Anna said with a small laugh. "I didn't know he'd be so tall. He took me by surprise." She chuckled. "Anyway, I'll just..." She pushed her way past Castiel on the stairs, patting him on the arm as she went, and he and Dean were left alone, contemplating each other in the foyer.

"God, Cas..." Dean breathed, grinning "You look amazing...I mean, so much better than..."

"Thanks," Castiel said with a small, almost shy smile. "I didn't know you were coming over."

"Well, I figured I'd give you a little time to settle back in at home, you know? How're you feeling?"

Castiel shrugged and moved into the living room, Dean following behind him. "Better," he said as he sat down on the couch. "I only got home two days ago. I thought after two weeks in a psych ward it would be harder to adjust, but I almost feel like I've barely been gone." He folded his hands in his lap as Dean sat beside him. "I'll go back to school after Christmas. New year...new start and all that."

"It'll be good to have you back, Cas," Dean said, and they slipped into a tentative silence.

"My teachers have been very understanding," Castiel said, seeming simply to want to fill the hole in the conversation. He rubbed his hands down across his thighs. "Crowley is letting me email my winter paper, and Gabriel says my grades are good enough that I don't have to worry about making up the labs...And with you and Balthazar bringing me my homework from my other classes while I was...away, I didn't fall too far behind."

"That's good." Dean scooted a little closer, only barely. The silence filled the air again, and he looked down at his thumbs. "So your head's okay?"

"How's your shoulder?"

They both spoke at the same time, and their words mashed together in an unintelligible jumble. "You first," Castiel said. "Your arm...how is it?" His words were still tinged with guilt, and Dean rolled his shoulder pointedly to convey his lack of pain. He tugged his collar down to show him; the bandage was gone, and there was a pink, puckered scar in its place.

"Getting better every day," Dean said with a grin. "The scar's there to stay, but I kind of like it."

Castiel managed a small smile, even if the guilt didn't leave his eyes entirely. Dean hoped it would with time. "What about you?" he asked. "How's your noodle?"

"My noodle is just fine. Or getting there, anyway. I think it's a pretty good noodle." Dean just couldn't _not_  smile at that, and he wondered to himself what he would have done if he had lost this, whatever it ended up being. He tried to picture it and couldn't. It was like trying to make out an image through a thick fog; he knew it was _there,_  because it had to be, but no matter how hard he squinted, he couldn't see it.

Castiel was looking out the window behind him, and Dean turned to follow his gaze. It had started to snow outside, lightly, peppering the fading twilight with white. "It's been a very long Fall," Castiel mused, and Dean couldn't have agreed more.

The silence became comfortable, Castiel slowly edging closer – or maybe it was Dean moving nearer to him; neither of them could tell, really – until their thighs were touching. If Dean had said he didn't feel even the slightest urge to rest his head on Castiel's shoulder, he would have been lying.

"You know..." he said after a moment, and Castiel blinked up at him, pulling his gaze away from the window. "I've been doing a lot of thinking...Sam wants to go to college like you wouldn't believe. He could probably get a full ride somewhere if he tried. I never thought it was for me, but maybe that was just because I never really thought about what I wanted. It was all about Sammy, about making sure he was safe if Dad ever came home in a bad way...I guess I didn't think it was okay for me to leave him on his own if I went off to some university somewhere. Figured just working in the shop after graduation was the safest bet."

"But it's not what you want..." Castiel said, quietly, and Dean shook his head.

"I still can't leave him. Not yet, anyway. But maybe...I don't know, Cas...maybe when he graduates, goes off to some big fancy school somewhere...well, you never know. I could work for a while, save up some...If I was working for my dad, I could keep living at home, for a while anyway. Maybe I could find someplace that would have me." He smiled, a little wistfully. "I always kinda wanted to study Melville."

Castiel seemed to practically light up at that, and Dean had to admit it made his stomach flip slightly. Castiel's arms were around him just moments later, his nose pressed against the crook of Dean's neck. "That's fantastic," Castiel breathed against his skin. "Incredible! Dean, that's..." He pulled away, his hands lingering on Dean's shoulders. "That makes me...very happy."

Dean could feel the words against his lips. They were so close, Castiel's eyelids drooping just slightly as he looked up at him through his dark lashes. It would be so easy, Dean realized, so easy to just lean in that tiny bit and close the gap...

"That reminds me," Castiel said, pulling away and leaving Dean feeling like he'd missed an important moment. Castiel went over to the shelf by the television, looking through the CD's that were stacked there and bringing two back over to the couch. He handed them to Dean; on top was _March or Die,_  by Motorhead, and Dean smiled.

"Motorhead," he said with an approving nod.

"I promised I'd get it back to you, didn't I?"

Dean looked at the CD under it and snorted out a laugh. "And...Survivor?"

"You can't pretend you don't love _Eye of the Tiger._ "

Dean chuckled as he put the CD's aside. "Yeah...I kinda do." Slowly, he took a breath. "So...I told Sam."

"Told him?"

"You know, that I'm..." He swallowed, the word still sticking and feeling foreign on his tongue. It came out sounding like it had been forcefully shoved: "Bi."

"And?"

"Part of me thought he'd already know." He laughed a little nervously. "He didn't...not really, anyway. Said he always sort of wondered. But he...he didn't care, Cas. It didn't even matter to him. All this time, I was so scared of letting him down, and he...I'm still the same big brother to him that I always was."

Castiel smiled. "Are you really surprised?" Dean couldn't really say that he was.

Slowly, Castiel looked down again, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. Dean's mind tripped back to the messages he'd left, the night Castiel had tried to end his life, and he stared at the phone as Castiel ran his thumb across the screen. "I listened to your messages, you know," Castiel said. "I never knew...about Alastair and all...I knew he was a dick, but I didn't know he could do something like that to you. Turn you into something you weren't..."

Dean frowned. "Obviously not too far from what I was already...I mean, what I did to you-"

Castiel pressed his hand over Dean's mouth, and Dean went cross-eyed looking down at it. "You remember what I told you? When you visited me that first time in the psych ward?" Dean furrowed his brow. "I told you to ask me something, once I was home. I'm home now, so I think you owe me a question." Slowly, he pulled his hand away, smiling warmly as he folded it in his lap.

"You forgive me?" Dean asked.

"I did that a while ago, Dean," Castiel told him, and he leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Dean's lips. It was over before Dean even realize it had started, and he was left staring at Castiel dumbly as the slightest hint of a blush crept onto his cheeks.

His mind wandered back to the day that Sam had stumbled in the door and told him, eyes wide and panicked and his face turning every possible shade of crimson, that Jess was waiting out on the front steps. "I think she's gonna kiss me," Sam had squeaked.

"What do you want me to do about it?" Dean had asked him, hiding a smirk.

"Tell me what to do!"

So Dean had grabbed him by the shoulders, turned him around and marched him back over to the door. "Just try to be as awkward and nervous as you can."

"Why?"

"Because you're going to be anyway so you might as well make it part of the plan to start with."

He'd shoved him out the door and grinned as he'd sauntered back over to the living room, thinking to himself that Doctor Who gave some damn good advice from time to time. And now he couldn't stop thinking about how crazy it was that it had taken Sam far less time to finally work up the nerve to kiss Jess than it had taken him to manage to kiss Cas.

"Dean?" Castiel asked, breaking him out of his thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"Was that alright?" He seemed just the slightest bit anxious.

"The kiss?"

"Yes. The kiss."

"Yeah...yeah, Cas, it was...it was more than alright."

Castiel smiled at him, gaze flicking down toward Dean's lips. "You can kiss me again if you'd like."

So Dean did.

He leaned forward, cupping Castiel's jaw in his palms as Castiel's arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Castiel's lips were chapped and dry, but their every movement against Dean's mouth made his stomach do backflips. Castiel's breath came in quick, shallow bursts, his fingers trailing their way through Dean's uncombed hair and leaving goosebumps on the back of his neck.

Their noses bumped together as Dean tilted his head, his tongue darting out to skim across Castiel's bottom lip. Slowly, Castiel leaned backward, pulling Dean with him, and he rested back against the armrest of the couch, humming into Dean's mouth as he opened his lips for him. Dean finally got a full, rich taste of him: earthy and hearty, almost like water drunk from a spring.

Castiel propped one leg up on the sofa and Dean straddled it, their knees brushing together as he did. Castiel pulled him closer, palms pressed flat between his shoulder blades, skimming up and down his back in soothing motions. Dean kept his eyes lightly closed, reveling in the feel of Castiel's lips against his own and his breath against his skin, his smell, his taste, the warmth of his hands on his shoulders. He wondered absently what had taken him so long to finally give in to this.

A soft, "Oh!" from the other room was all it took to break him out of his haze, and he pulled away so fast it made his head spin, sitting up and staring wide-eyed at Anna, who had paused at the bottom of the stairs.

Castiel sat up a moment later, his hair mussed up and his lips gloriously red. The flush that spread across his cheeks when he peeked over the back of the couch and saw Anna would have been adorable if Dean so wasn't busy trying to form words.

"Don't mind me," Anna finally said, holding up her hands. "Pay no attention to the sister behind the curtain." She was gone in a flash, and Dean was left feeling a little woozy.

"Are you alright?" Castiel finally managed, leaning back on his elbows and looking up at him.

"Yeah...I think so..."

"She won't tell anybody, if that's what you're worried about. It's hard to gossip from the other side of the Atlantic."

"I'm not worried about that," Dean said, and he surprised himself when he realized that it was the truth. "Just a little mortified your sister caught me making out with you." He managed a small laugh, which Castiel copied, and suddenly it wasn't so small anymore. Suddenly, they were laughing, openly and loudly, until their faces were red and Dean had to lean back off of Castiel to wrap his arms around his own stomach.

He wiped away a tear, catching his breath as Castiel sat up and rested against him, his head finding a comfortable home on Dean's shoulder. Dean wrapped an arm around his waist and held him close.

"Hey Cas?" he said after what felt like a long silence.

"Hm?"

Castiel looked up at him the same time that Dean glanced down. "Do you need any help on that English paper of yours?"

Castiel smiled at him. "Do you really need to ask?"

Christmas was a quiet affair for all involved. Balthazar went back to Paris for the holiday, and Castiel enjoyed having Anna home. Her French had gotten much better, but it didn't trip off her tongue as easily as it had off of Balthazar's. Castiel supposed it was only natural, and he smiled as she slipped between languages with a practiced ease that made her glow with pride.

He didn't show her the manuscript Chuck had given him. It didn't feel right. He felt that it was somehow his and his alone. If what Chuck had said was true, and it really was the only copy in existence, he resolved to be selfish for the moment and keep it for his eyes alone. Maybe one day he would share it with her, but for now, he cherished its uniqueness. He read it little by little, when the rest of the house was quiet, sneaking down into the living room to read by the light of the Christmas tree.

They got a Christmas card from Chuck on the twenty-third. Anna seemed conflicted about it, but she smiled as she read it. Castiel suspected part of her had never forgotten the stories they'd made up as children about their father the superhero. He wondered if she would ever want to see their father again, as he had. Neither of them had brought up Chuck's visit in the psych ward. For now, at least, she seemed content with the cards.

He video chatted with Charlie on Christmas morning while he ate greedily from a box of donuts at the kitchen table. They laughed loudly and often, and she lamented the fact that he'd missed the undoubtedly epic padded sword fight she'd had with the LARPing group she'd started at her new school. He promised her he'd learn to make his own padded weapon and she could teach him the finer points of swordplay when she came to visit.

Dean had his own holiday stories to tell, and he excitedly shared them with Castiel over the phone. Jess had come over late in the afternoon on Christmas Day with a box wrapped in shiny red paper, which she'd proudly presented to Sam. His face had matched the crimson bow, according to Dean, who laughed into the receiver as he told him about Jess and Sam's kiss under the mistletoe on the front porch. Castiel could practically hear the pride oozing into his words, and it made him smile. Dean's tone softened, and he let the weight of his emotion through as he added that their father had stayed sober for Christmas, and it was the most they'd felt like a family in a good long time.

Castiel was determined to kiss Dean under the mistletoe if he ever got the chance. He did, on the last day of the year, with Sam holding it proudly above their heads as he leaned over the railing of the stairwell.

The second of January rolled around more quickly than any of them could have anticipated, and before Castiel realized how much time had passed, he was sitting in the parking lot of Edlund High, in the passenger's seat of Dean's Impala.

Dean put the car in park and took the keys from the ignition, looking over at him and putting his hand delicately over Castiel's, which were tugging anxiously at his own scarf. "You really ready to do this?" he asked. "I mean...if you need more time-"

Castiel shook his head. "More time won't help. I've tried plenty of it already." He adjusted his scarf around his neck, toying with the fringe at the edges. "I'm ready."

"And if people talk?"

"Then they talk. I can't stop them." Neither of them made any move to get out of the car, and slowly, Dean's hand found its way to Castiel's arm.

"You know..." Dean said, "I've spent most of my damn life being scared of what other people think of me. It's not even a vanity thing, really. I've always worried about my dad seeing me this way or that way, or Sam being able to look up to me...But I'm tired of it, Cas. I'm really damn tired of worrying about what everyone says about me when I've walked out of a room. And you..." Dean looked at him like he was sporting wings and a halo. "I wish I could do what you do...let it all roll off without even trying..."

"I try really hard actually," Castiel admitted, smiling sheepishly at his shoes. Dean squeezed his hand.

They sat there in silence, watching everyone shuffle inside, out of the bitter winter air. Soon, the cold would leech into the car too, and they'd have to find shelter in the school building to stop their shivering. For now, though, they were warm enough. "I figured it out, though," Dean said. "What everyone in there-" He pointed toward the school. "-has got in common."

"What's that?"

"They're all scared. Every single one of them. Cause sooner or later, everyone thinks they're going it alone. Everyone thinks the world calls them a freak behind their back."

"Or to their face," Castiel pointed out, calmly.

"Yeah...but at least you know you're not going in there alone, right? You got me, and Jo, and Balthazar. And Charlie's just a text away, and so is Anna. You got people in your corner, Cas. You got people to fight for you."

"True. I'd like to avoid fighting if at all possible, though."

Dean laughed at that. "Yeah, don't break anymore faces, okay? C'mon...we're gonna be late for the first bell."

They got out of the car, their breath puffing white from between their lips, and made their way toward the school building. The closer they got, the more Castiel's heart pounded in his chest. Dean paused when the reached the door. "Hey," he said, and he held out his hand for him.

Castiel stared at it for a moment, then looked back up to meet Dean's eyes again. There was still anxiety there, and fear and uncertainty, but the determination shone brighter than all of the rest combined. "Are you sure?" Castiel asked.

"I told you," Dean said. "I'm tired of worrying about what people think. If they're gonna call me a freak, let them say it to my face." He smiled, in spite of everything, and Castiel found his hands had stopped shaking as he reached out for Dean's.

Dean's fingers pressed warm against his own, anchoring him, and Castiel moved forward, pushing the door open and stepping inside.

**END.**


End file.
